True Love Isn't Always Conventional
by Greye
Summary: Harry and Fleur meet during the riotous aftermath of the World Cup. How will this meeting change the course of their lives? This is a Harry/Fleur pairing. Along the line there may be a little Hermione/Krum, and Hermione/Ron. Sorry that the summary is so short and vague. Please read if you ship Harry/Fleur!
1. Meeting Most Dire

**Greye's Notes**: Hey everyone! This is a brand new fanfic by me. I have always shipped Harry and Fleur and thus, I have written a Harry and Fleur fanfic! There are already some wonderful Harry/Fleur fics out there, I know, but there were some things I wanted to see…and so I decided to write my own! If anything I have written is similar to what someone else has, I apologize, that is not my intention—everything I have written here has come from my own mind, and is meant to be original (except for the scenes I've added that did occur in the book, though most of those are altered as well to accommodate my changed storyline). Anyway, if anyone has a problem with something I have written—maybe you think it is too close to what you wrote, or someone else wrote (I have by far not read EVERY Harry/Fleur fic out there!) please PM me and let me know so I can make adjustments, rather than just flaming me.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter! Some of these scenes are written similarly to the book, I know, and those things I do not own! My own characters and scenarios are my own, but J.K. Rowling owns everything else.

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"Boys! Boys, get up! Something's wrong." Harry groggily turned over in his bunk, his mind clinging to a dream about the Quidditch match…instead of Krum, he, Harry, was the Bulgarian Seeker. He groaned as the last vestiges of the dream left him.

"Mr. Weasley?" Harry sat up, his head brushing the tent. Suddenly the sounds outside rushed up to greet him and his eyes widened in alarm. Gone were the sounds of laughter, replaced with terrified screams and explosions. "What's going on?" Mr. Weasley, who was rousing the other boys, shook his head.

"I don't know, there's no time! Get your jacket and go! Don't bother about changing." Harry scrambled out of bed and grabbed his jacket and his wand. He hurried out of the tent behind Mr. Weasley, Ron on his heels, and looked around. Fires burned everywhere, and everywhere there were witches and wizards running and screaming. Children crying, people wailing—mass panic. Harry felt his eyes pulled toward the source, and gasped. A mass of marching witches and wizards was headed their way—the core of them curiously wrapped in dark cloaks with…masks? Harry felt his brow furrow in confusion, until his eyes caught on the floating figures above. Mr. Roberts…the caretaker…and was that…? Harry felt an anger rise in him, a terrible, dreadful rage. Beside him, Ron voiced his thoughts.

"That's…that's…disgusting!" For the other figures were no doubt Mr. Roberts' family, his wife and children being spun about in the air wearing nothing but their night things. All were crying and screaming hysterically, except for the little boy, who seemed to have passed out. Harry turned to move out of the way as Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the tent.

"We're going to join the Ministry, see if we can help." Mr. Weasley explained. All of them were dressed, with their wands out. "You lot get into the trees, now! Stick together. Fred, George, I expect you to keep an eye on your sister!" The twins nodded solemnly, and stood beside their little sister. Ginny rolled her eyes, but Harry could see that she was scared too. "We'll meet you later. Go, go now!" He turned and headed toward the crowd of wizards approaching, Bill, Charlie, and Percy walking with him.

Fred and George led the way into the woods, Ginny between them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione brought up the rear. It was hard to stay close with so many people running around them, pushing, and shoving. And it was dark, even with half the tents in the area on fire. A big tree loomed up, and Harry had to move quickly to avoid running into it. He broke away from Ron and Hermione to go around it on the other side. His foot caught in a root and he went sprawling. "Ack!" He grunted in pain as some other panicked individual trod on him. Groaing slightly, he got up and looked around. "Ron? Hermione?" He turned in a slow circle, but Harry was alone. Harry reached into his pocket and drew out his wand, lighting the tip of it with a muttered word. He would just have to keep going, and hope he found them. Looking around at the people running through the woods around him, he thought he was liable to get trampled if he stayed put too long. Harry hurried through the trees, careful to watch his step this time, all the while looking out for his friends.

_"Pardonnez-moi, avez-vous vu Madame Maxime?" _The polite, if strained, voice stopped Harry in his tracks. He looked around curiously. Harry didn't know much French, but he thought the person was talking to him. He shone his light around, and turned as another wand was lit, illuminating a girl before him. Harry's eyes widened when he saw her—she was breath-takingly beautiful. He had never seen anyone who could compare. She was tall, with long, silvery hair and sapphire eyes he couldn't look away from. Her skin was pale, and flawless, and she looked like she possessed the lithe strength of one of the big cats out of legend. His heart thudded in his chest, and it was all he could do to speak.

"_Je ne parle pas français, désolé." _Harry responded with the only French phrase he knew. "I'm English." He added, as if she couldn't tell by his atrocious accent. The girl smiled at him, which made her more beautiful, if that was possible.

"That iz okay. I know Enlish." Her slightly accented English was beautiful too, Harry thought dreamily. "Are you from 'ogwarts?" Harry nodded, and was snapped from his reverie when he realized her question meant that she was not from Hogwarts. She laughed at his puzzled expression, and he shivered. "I am from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, in France. Madam Maxime is my 'eadmistress…I was just with her." She looked around, blue eyes worried. "If you 'ad seen 'er, you would not 'ave forgotten. She iz a very large woman." Harry wanted to laugh, thinking of Hagrid, who was the biggest person he knew.

"Sorry, no." He said, surprising himself by speaking calmly, despite the screams he could still hear in the distance. "I haven't seen anyone like that. I just got separated from my friends too." He switched his wand to his left hand and stuck out his right. "Let's walk together? Until we find people we know?" The girl hesitantly took his hand in her own, and Harry swallowed, a little overcome by the soft, slim hand that seemed to fit perfectly in his own. He cleared his throat, and let go of her rather quickly. "I'm Harry." He deliberately didn't add his last name, but he saw her eyes flick to his forehead nonetheless. Surprisingly, she didn't comment.

"I am Fleur. Let us go, 'arry. Before we get caught up in something we can't handle." She took a step into the forest, and stumbled back quickly when a man barred her path.

"Oh…" His deep voice responded, "I think you kiddies are definitely caught in something you can't handle." His lank, greasy black hair laid flat against his head, and his sunken eyes looked black in the darkness. He smiled crookedly, and took a step toward Fleur. "Such a pretty little thing…pity to let you go to waste." He reached out to touch Fleur, and Harry stared in horror as his filthy fingers fondled the silvery hair he had just been admiring. For some reason, Fleur seemed frozen. It was then he spotted a second wizard in the trees, mouthing something silent as he held his wand on Fleur. He must have hit her with some kind of binding spell! Harry took an angry step forward, but was brought up short by a hand gripping his shoulder.

"Ah-ah, can't have you interrupting, you little-" Harry didn't give him a chance to finish. He raised his foot and brought the heel down with a resounding crack on the man's instep, and was rewarded with an awful howl of pain. Plenty of practice with Dudley had taught him to follow this move up with an elbow to the face, and Harry was satisfied to feel the man's nose give. He spun around, crying "_Stupefy_!" The man went rigid, and Harry ducked instinctively to avoid a hex that flashed by over his head. He spun to see the man who had just been touching Fleur with his wand raised. Harry made as if to send a curse at him, but changed direction at the last moment and sent his curse flying toward the man still binding Fleur. "_Petrificus Totalus_!" The man locked, the unexpected curse hitting him full on even as the greasy haired man sent a nasty spell at Harry. Harry leapt aside, but felt something slice into his arm. He felt warm blood dripping down to his fingertips, and was glad he had moved when he did. Fleur, now free, immediately hexed the greasy man while his back was turned. She raced towards him and grabbed his arm. Harry winced in pain. "Come on Harry!" She cried, and pulled him along behind her.

"_EXPELLIARMUS!"_ Bellowed the man behind them, and Harry felt his wand leave his hand.

"My wand!" He turned to go back for it, but Fleur's grip on his arm tightened and he gasped in pain.

"Leave it, 'arry! Your neck is worth more than your wand!" Reluctantly, Harry agreed and followed her into the trees.

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**Greye's Notes:** Hope this first chapter was alright. There will be more soon, I already have a couple other chapters done—just need to edit them before I put them out.

So thoughts? Did I jump in too quickly here, do you think? I'll admit, I may have been lazy, and just did not feel like writing about the actual Quidditch match. Even so, I think starting where I did was ok. Let me know what you think, please!


	2. Parentage Revealed

**Greye's Notes:** Another chapter! I hope you like this one. Criticism welcome! (Also, please forgive my chapter names and the title. I am not so good with titles! But, I wanted to try doing something other than Chapter 1, Chapter 2, etc.)

Thank you for the reviews I have received thus far! Not all of my chapters will be posted so quickly—I just have some time on my hands right now, and a will to write! As everyone knows, these things do not last! ;)

**Disclaimer: **These characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

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They ran quickly, but carefully, trying hard to get away from the men they hoped weren't following them. Harry didn't have his wand anymore, which left them outclassed, and outnumbered. Harry thought that Fleur was older than him, but that didn't mean she could take on three qualified wizards alone. He winced as she squeezed his arm again.

"Fleur," he panted, reaching up to place a hand over hers, urging it to loosen. "Could I hold your hand instead? You're hurting my arm." Fleur stopped abruptly, and Harry nearly tripped over her. She took her hand from his arm so fast it was like she'd been burned. She brought her lit wand around and looked at the blood staining her hand an arm, mingling with the blood oozing from a cut on her wrist Harry hadn't noticed before. He winced in sympathy, wondering when she'd got that. Fleur raised her wand and studied Harry's arm, the gash was deep, and blood was still flowing. She swallowed, and he thought her face lost a lot of color—though it was hard to tell in the dim light.

"I am…am so…s-sorry, Harry." She managed, her voice shaking slightly. Her eyes were wide, the sapphire depths oddly…fearful? Harry frowned. His wound wasn't that bad.

"It's alright Fleur. You didn't do it, you were just squeezing kind of hard." Fleur took a shuddering breath, and started ripping a strip from her long night shirt. Harry was about to ask what she was doing when she wordlessly starting winding the cloth around is arm, tying it tightly. "Thanks." He said in surprise, still a little confused by her odd reaction. Harry reached out and took her hand in his, careful of the cut on her wrist. "Come on, we'd best keep moving." Fleur only nodded, face still seeming even paler than before, so Harry guided them further into the forest. Fleur kept her wand lit, so they could see their way.

"Harry!" Harry whipped his head around at the familiar voice, and grinned broadly when he saw Ron, and right beside him, Hermione.

"Fleur, these are the friends I got separated from!" Harry led Fleur over to Ron and Hermione, introducing them as we went. "This is Ron, his dad works for our Ministry—I'm sure once this is over, he'll be able to help you find your friends again. And this is Hermione, they're my best mates at school!" Still clutching Fleur's hand, he gestured to her with the other one.

"Ron, Hermione, this is Fleur. I ran into her when we got separated—she's from Beauxbatons, also separated from her friends." Harry didn't get a chance to say more before Hermione gasped. He followed her eyes and stared into the sky. A giant skull was floating in the air, with a snake protruding for a tongue. It was grisly, but Harry was surprised when Fleur suddenly hugged his arm, leaning against him.

"_Mon Dieu…" _She murmured, trembling slightly. Harry felt a sudden surge of protectiveness, and placed his free hand over one of hers. He could feel Ron's questioning eyes on him, and blushed faintly.

"What is it?" Harry asked, mostly to distract himself. Suddenly, there were a serious of pops around them. He heard men's voices around them, shouting angrily to one another. His gaze locked with Ron's. A sudden flash in the air illuminated at least a dozen men around them, all pointing their wands directly at the four teens. Ron grabbed Hermione, and Harry swept an arm around Fleur, dragging her to the ground with him even as a dozen red curses flew over them and past them. They were in big trouble now. Harry felt his heart racing, and he cursed himself for losing his wand.

"STOP! STOP YOU IDIOTS! THAT'S MY DAUGHTER!" A very deep, slightly accented voice thundered through the trees, and Harry stared around in confusion. Daughter? When Fleur's head lifted, he realized who it must be. "_Pere!" _She cried in response, getting up. Harry let her go and she hurried across the clearing, silvery hair streaming behind, to meet her father—a towering man—and hugged him, relief evident upon her features. The man started speaking softly to her in French, and Harry was glad he didn't know what he was saying, not wanting to intrude on the reunion.

"Ron!" Another, much more familiar voice called. Harry turned in relief to see Mr. Weasley vaulting the bushes towards them. "Harry, Hermione! Thank heavens you're all alright!" He pulled Ron into a hug, which so shocked the redhead that it was all Harry could do not to laugh. He glanced at Hermione and shared a knowing grin with her. For all that Ron blustered about his family, he really did have a great one.

"Augh, I'm alright dad. We're all fine." Mr. Weasley reluctantly let go of Ron, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder. Ron's face was pink, and he refused to meet Harry or Hermione's eyes.

"Fine, are you? Well, that's just dandy! Now which one of you hooligans conjured the Mark?!" A man intruded on the reunion, and Harry recognized him as Amos Diggory—Cedric's father. They had met at the Portkey before the cup. Harry was taken aback by Mr. Diggory's vehemence, and just stared at him. Mr. Weasley, however, stepped forward angrily, his face was scarlet.

"Are you accusing my son or one of his friends of doing this, Diggory?" Now it was Mr. Diggory's turn to be shocked, and he took a step back in dismay. "For god sakes man, that right there is Harry Potter! What are you thinking?" Diggory shook his head, suddenly uncertain.

"Well…I.." Just then, a rustling in the bushes beside them made them all jump. Harry could see Fleur pulling her father over to the rest of them out of the corner of his eye, but his attention was fixed on the bush. Mr. Weasley had already trained his wand on the bush, and spoke in the most authoritative voice Harry had ever heard from him.

"Out of there, you! Or I'll send a hex in there after you." The bush quivered violently, and out stepped a trembling house elf. Harry stared.

"Winky! Wha-" Harry was lost for words. Here was the elf who had so obediently saved a seat for Mr. Crouch at the cup. His eyes drifted down to her little hand, clutching a wand. Harry's eyes widened. "Hey! That's my wand!" He made to take it from her, but Mr. Diggory was immediately in his path.

"Watch it there boy! I think we've all just heard a confession!" Mr. Diggory took the wand from Winky and flourished it triumphantly. "I think we can all see what's happened here!" A sharp crack in the air announced a new arrival, and Mr. Crouch himself was on the scene.

"What is going on here, Diggory? Have you apprehended the culprit?" Mr. Crouch, despite the night's disturbances, was still as impeccably dressed as ever, not a hair of his mustache was out of place as he stared down Amos Diggory.

For his part, Mr. Diggory grabbed Winky by the arm and pulled her forward. "It seems Potter here gave this elf his wand, and made her conjure the Dark Mark! He's just admitted to this being his wand, and to knowing this elf personally!" Harry was thunderstruck. What on earth was he talking about? Mr. Weasley looked equally shocked, and Ron and Hermione were outraged. Before Mr. Crouch could respond, Fleur broke away from her father, despite his protest, and moved to stand beside Harry.

"Please sir, 'arry did not do zis." Harry could tell Fleur was agitated. He wasn't sure how he knew, since she seemed calm and determined, but something in the set of her shoulders, and the timbre of her voice, gave it away. He reached out and subtly took her hand, giving it a squeeze of gratitude. Fleur flinched slightly at the contact, but allowed him to hold her hand. "'e was with me before and after ze Mark was in ze sky." She glanced at her father briefly, before continuing. Mr. Diggory seemed content to hear her out, which surprised Harry. He took another look at her father, wondering if there was some significance there.

"We both were separated from our groups, and came across each other in ze woods. We were attacked by three men." Fleur paused, remembering no doubt how close a call that had been. Harry squeezed her hand again. "We 'elped each other, and got away. When we ran, a man shouted at us and disarmed 'arry—I was wiz 'im when 'e lost iz wand. It was not iz fault." Fleur finished, and Harry turned to look at Mr. Crouch and Mr. Diggory, both who seemed to be ruminating over this information. Mr. Crouch took a step forward, and spotted Winky, instantly recognizing her. He seemed staggered.

"Winky!" The elf was obviously terrified, and prostrated herself on the ground at his feet.

"Master! Winky is sorry! Winky is sorry! Winky saw the bad men coming, and ran to get out of their way!" Mr. Crouch's face was suddenly cold.

"I have no use for a disobedient servant. You have brought shame upon me." Harry could feel Hermione winding up beside him, but Ron placed a hand on her shoulder, warning her not to intervene. Surprisingly, she subsided.

"Mr. Crouch!" Said Amos Diggory in surprise. "This elf belongs to you?" Mr. Crouch nodded shortly.

"Yes. And while displeased with her behavior, I can attest that it is not my practice to teach my servants Dark Magic." Diggory straightened up, as though realizing how close he had been to accusing Mr. Crouch of something. "Winky, give me Harry's wand." Winky immediately offered it to him, and Mr. Crouch took it, touching it to the tip of his own and muttering a quiet spell. There appeared, from the end of Harry's wand, a ghost of the image still in the sky. Mr. Crouch nodded to himself. "Harry's wand was definitely used in the conjuring. Whoever did it has likely left by now…I will question my elf closely, and find out what she knows. In the meantime!" Everyone snapped to attention. "Miss Delacour, and Mr. Potter. I will expect to see you both at the Ministry first thing tomorrow to give detailed descriptions of these men you say attacked you." Mr. Crouch turned and bowed to Fleur's father. "I hope this will not create an inconvenience, Minister Delacour. But we need to apprehend these criminals immediately. They may have had something to do with the trouble tonight." Harry swallowed hard as he stared at the tall man, Fleur's father. Unintentionally, his hand tightened around Fleur's. He heard Ron and Hermione's intake of breath beside him. Fleur's father was the French Minister for Magic!

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**Greye's Notes:** I know, I know! Making Fleur's father the Minister was maybe a little cliché, but I did it so Harry could get something cool! Which you'll see in the next chapter ;)

Fleur's father does not speak in as much of an accent as Fleur, because he has many years experience speaking English. (Had a question about that) Also, I will probably not write in Fleur's vernacular all the time, because it's time consuming for me and takes away from my story-thinking skills. But I shall do my best! My thought is, her accent will lessen over time-she will be spending the better part of a year in England, after all.

Again, please let me know what you liked and didn't like. Anything is welcome. Anyhow, I hope you guys did like it. I will continue on to the next chapter!

On a side note, I do not know French. Like, at all. So please, if I mess up a French phrase or word, forgive me. The French I use in this fic is taken partly from google translate, and partly from a friend of mine who did take French. Hopefully, between the two, I haven't botched anything too badly. There won't be a whole lot of French in this fic, but it will appear occasionally (since Fleur is French!). If I mess something up awfully, and you know how to fix it, please let me know and I'll take care of it!


	3. A Veela is Bound

**Greye's Notes:** Here is Chapter 3! Thank you all so much for the reviews! This chapter is a little longer than my previous chapters. It has been requested that my chapters be longer, and I will do my best to oblige! (Also, to those of you who made shrewd guesses as to the direction of this fic, kudos!)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters that appear in my fic! (Except for any non-canon ones I might throw in there!) All of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

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Harry leaned back on his bed in Ron's room, staring up at the ceiling. He could hear Ron, Fred, and George snoring peacefully around him. He hadn't been able to fall asleep yet. The events of the day were too vivid in his mind to allow him to sleep. Especially…especially her. Fleur. Fleur Delacour. Even her name was beautiful. He sighed. She had risen magnificently to his defense about the Dark Mark (which Hermione had finally explained was the sign of Voldemort and his followers—her and Fleur's reactions to it now made sense), and then it had been revealed that her father was the French Minister for Magic. Which was probably why Diggory, and even Crouch, had listened to what she had to say without immediately shouting her down. Thankfully, her word had been accepted (probably backed up by the hulking presence of her father in the background). Then Fleur had introduced them.

"_'arry, this is my Father, Jefferoi Delacour." Her musical voice had said. "Papa, this is 'arry Potter. 'e iz the one who saved my life." Harry flushed deep red at that and quickly protested as the large, dark haired and dark-eyed man had turned to look at him._

_ "Oh no sir, it wasn't like that at all. Fleur and I escaped together, that's all. It was luck, really." Harry said, just managing not to stutter. The man had raised one big, bushy brow._

_ "You are telling me, that my daughter lies?" his deep voice rumbled. Harry stared at him in horror, not noticing the amused look on Fleur's face beside him, as she covered her mouth. He started backtracking._

_ "N-no sir! N-never! T-that's not what I—" A big hand clamped onto his shoulder, and Harry found himself looking up into two dark, mirth-filled eyes._

_ "I know, I know. I was just 'aving a laugh, my boy." His eyes became serious. "But I do want to thank you for helping my Fleur. She has told me what happened, and I am certain that, without your assistance, she would have had much worse trouble." Harry remained silent, unsure how to respond. "Please know, young 'arry. If ever you have need of help, you will always find it in France." The French Minister then slipped a small card into his hand. "Show this card to any French witch or wizard, and they will help you." Harry stared at the card. It was blank. The Minister laughed at Harry's puzzled expression. "It is coded to you, so that no one else may use it. Tap it with your wand, and whisper, Revelio." Harry did as instructed, and watched as words scrolled across the card, first in French, and then in English._

**The bearer of this card has performed a great service for France, and is thus entitled to aid such as is within the power of the person asked for assistance. Any outstanding costs should be forwarded to the French Ministry.**

_ "Sir…I…I don't know what to say." Harry stared at Fleur for a moment, and then at her father in awe. A gift like this was priceless. Harry didn't know what he would ever use it for, but he had never received anything so generous._

_ "Say nothing," Fleur's father responded, "Or say thank-you. Use it, or don't. I am just grateful that my daughter is safe." He then left Fleur and Harry to themselves for a moment, and Harry found himself speechless before the beautiful girl. Fleur seemed to understand, and took one of his hands with a smile._

_ "'arry, I am glad that we met, even under such dire circumstances. We may see each other tomorrow. Until then, please take care." Harry watched as if in a trance as Fleur leaned in slowly, and placed a light kiss on his cheek. She stayed close to whisper quietly in his ear. "If anything…strange…begins to happen, please write to me at once." She pulled back, and he could see the worry in her eyes. Harry wasn't sure what she was talking about, but he nodded anyway, still unable to speak, and watched as she walked away with her father, arm in arm._

_ Ron's voice behind him broke the spell. "Blimey. She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. How'd you get so lucky, Harry?" A rather loud smack followed this statement, and Harry smiled, turning around toward his friends. "Oy!" Shouted Ron indignantly. "What was that for, Hermione?" Hermione, for her part, was walking back to the campsite with her arms folded over her chest. Harry thought he heard her mutter something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Boys"._

Harry stared at the ceiling, thinking of the kiss he had received from the most beautiful girl in the world. A girl who had trembled to see the Dark Mark…but had also stood up in determined defense of him in front of some of the most powerful men in Britain. They would probably see each other at the Ministry tomorrow morning, he thought. His heart gave a funny leap in his chest, and he turned over on his side, closing his eyes. The sooner he fell asleep, he thought, the sooner he would get to see Fleur again…

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~Switching POV—Fleur~

Fleur sighed. "I am fine, Papa. Really, I am." She watched in exasperation as her father paced back and forth before their fireplace. Fleur had learned side-along Apparition last year, and so it was a simple matter for she and her father to get home. No need to stay overnight in England. Fleur leaned back on the sofa. "The only hurt I received is this cut, on my wrist." Fleur had long since been cleaned up—and was now comfortably in her pajamas, her silvery blonde hair fixed in a braid for bed. Jefferoi Delacour stopped for a moment, tapping his foot in agitation, before coming to sit beside Fleur. The serious look on his face made her nervous, and she sat up straight.

"Fleur, my daughter…how can you be so calm? If young Harry had not been with you…you might not have escaped those men!" Jefferoi shuddered, and Fleur knew he was imagining what might have happened to her. Remembering a similar incident not so long ago…that had not ended quite so well. Those were thoughts that had been tormenting her all night as well—a fact that she would not reveal to her papa. Being a quarter Veela brought with it many dangers—something her father did not need further reminding of.

"Papa, I am ok. Harry was there to help me." Really, she was frustrated she had allowed one of those men to get the drop on her with a binding spell anyway. That was embarrassing in and of itself. She was a sixth year at Beauxbatons, and should have been able to defend herself better. There was a matter that was worrying her more, however. "Papa, there is something I did not tell you, before." Jefferoi lifted his face with a frown. Fleur was nervous, shifting her weight uncomfortably on the couch. The silence stretched as Fleur struggled to find the words to explain what she feared had happened. Jefferoi took her silence to mean something else. He surged to his feet, his face livid. Fleur sat back in sudden shock at this change.

"You mean to say…that something _did _happen to you? But you said those men didn't…" His dark eyes widened, and became something terrible to behold. "Did _Harry Potter_ touch you?" he roared, fists balled at his sides. "If that little _rat_…and I _gave _him…" Fleur stared at her father in shock, she couldn't remember the last time she had seen him in such fury. It took her a minute to find her tongue.

"Papa, _no._ Harry didn't touch me at all! He wouldn't do that!" Except when he had taken her hand, she thought to herself privately. She remembered how strong and sure his hand had felt around hers. Her heart gave a little jump. Fleur mastered herself and met her father's eyes. "That is not what I was going to say." Some of the wind went out of his sails at this, and he sank back onto the couch.

"Then what?" he asked, much more subdued. His dark eyes held nothing but concern, and finally Fleur was able to speak.

"I think…I think we may have become Bound. An…an inadvertent Binding Ceremony may have taken place…" Fleur shifted uncomfortably. Fleur was only a quarter Veela, but it was enough. When a Veela marries another person, be they wizard, Muggle, or anything else, a Binding Ceremony takes place during the marriage. Jefferoi's eyes widened as he stared at Fleur. Typically, a small cut was made to the hand of the Veela, and the hand of the partner, then their hands were pressed together to allow their blood to mingle. This would bind the two people together for life. The Veela, because it is a part of her nature and her blood. The partner, because now a little blood from their Veela partner is running in their veins, keeping their promise. Overtime, changes would occur in each partner, as some of each person's attributes become apparent in the other. The most important aspect of the binding, however, was the ever growing sense of the bound partner. In time, two people would be able to feel each other, wherever they were.

"Explain to me what happened." Jefferoi said weakly. Fleur shifted under his gaze. "It wasn't just blood, was it?" he asked, but Fleur shook her head.

"Father…when I was with Harry, a flying curse caught my arm, leaving a small cut on my wrist. Harry was hit by a similar spell, which sliced into his arm, causing a lot of bleeding. We had only just escaped from the men trying to…trying to…" Fleur shook her head. "I had taken him by the arm, and he lost his wand—he wanted to go back for it, but I kept him with me. I was holding his bleeding arm, with my bleeding arm…" She took a breath, remembering what had happened. "My heart was racing, and we were running as fast as we could. I could hear Harry breathing hard beside me, and I knew he was just as scared as I was. He asked me to stop, because I was hurting his injured arm. That was when I realized…" Fleur stopped and looked away, feeling upset. She felt her father take her hand in one of his own.

"Fleur," he said gently, "That does not mean you are Bound. Blood alone doesn't do it, or else Veela could become bound to anyone. There must also be feeling—great feelings. Usually love? I cannot imagine that you love this boy already, nor he you." Fleur wasn't sure why those words somewhat bothered her.

"But Papa, the feeling does not have to be love, either. Or else Veela would only marry their true love. Great hate, can do it too. Look at grandmother. She was bound to her husband, even though she hated him…because she hated him." Her voice trailed off as she stared at the crackling fire. Jefferoi frowned, smoothing his fingers over her hand.

"I did not get the impression that you hated this boy either…and I can tell that he did not hate you." Jefferoi spoke quietly, reassuringly. Fleur wanted to be reassured, but she couldn't ignore this either. She met Jefferoi's eyes then, her own sapphire depths gleaming.

She gathered her courage to speak again, "Great love, and great hate…they are not the only feelings that can be great. Fear…fear fed by adrenaline…can also be great. And I fear that now, I am Bound to Harry Potter." Fleur got up, letting her hand slip out of her father's. "I don't know how to tell him that this thing has happened…that his fate is sealed. We do not have to be together…but I do not think it possible for either of us to ever be happy with anyone else." Fleur wrapped her arms around herself and bowed her head for a moment, letting the warmth of the fire comfort her. "I am going to bed, Papa. We must be up early to go to the English Ministry." Her father didn't respond as she left the room, heading up to her bedroom.

When Fleur pushed open her door, the first thing she saw was her mother, sitting on her bed. "Maman…" she said in surprise. "You should not be out of bed…" Her mother, Apolline Delacour, had been very sick the last year. The healers had told them to keep her in her room as much as possible, and not to overexcite her. Fleur quickly crossed the room and sat next to her mother, taking her frail hands as she did so. She had not told her mother of her troubles, not wanting to worry her.

Apolline smiled at Fleur gently. "My daughter…a mother knows when her daughter has been Bound." She freed a hand from Fleur and pressed it against her chest. "We feel it, here, when our daughter has found someone, and no longer needs us." Fleur swallowed, her throat thick. Apolline urged her to explain, "Fleur, tell me of this boy? Does he love you? He must, you know, for the bond to have worked." When Fleur still couldn't speak, Apolline frowned. "Or, perhaps it is a girl? A little unconventional, but that is okay too." Fleur choked out a laugh and shook her head.

"No Maman, it is a boy. I'm glad to know it wouldn't have mattered to you, though." Fleur laughed, despite herself. "Does he love me?" she whispered, half to herself. Fleur felt ravaged inside. Harry couldn't possibly love her. Not now, anyway. And definitely not when he found out what had happened. She had effectively taken away his future. Fleur felt a tear slip down her cheek, and then another. Her mother must have been confused by this reaction, but she pulled Fleur into her arms and rocked her as gently as she had when Fleur had been a small child.

"Oh, _ma fille_," she crooned. "Tell Maman what has happened." Fleur spoke in choking sobs, explaining the chaos after the Cup, and the men who had attacked her and Harry…and the blood, all the blood.

"Maman, you told me. You told me almost any great emotion would do—Love, Hate…and Fear. I never understood the fear until now. He doesn't know, Maman! He doesn't know! How do I tell him?" She cried as she had not cried since she was very small. "He will hate me." Fleur could feel her heart breaking inside for this boy she didn't even know.

Apolline's soothing voice cut through Fleur's crying as she rested a hand on her head. "My dear, I cannot tell you what to do. But you should know, that fate has a funny way of working things out. Be honest with him. Your heart is so full of love, Fleur. I know this was not how you expected to spend it, but give this a chance. You must." Fleur let her mother put her to bed then. Something she would never have allowed normally. It was comforting, feeling her mother's soft hand on her head, stroking her hair. It calmed her as effectively as it had when she had been a small child. The tears slowly stopped as her mother continued stroking her hair, whispering comforting things. Fleur's last thought before sleeping was of a black haired boy, with eyes greener than grass.

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**Greye's Notes:** Hey guys! The end of another chapter. I wanted to get a little perspective from Fleur, and thought you guys might like some too! So what do you think? Great love, arriving from great fear?

Please let me know what you think! Questions, criticisms, comments, all are welcome!


	4. Almost

**Greye's Notes: **Okay! I hope that you enjoyed getting to know Fleur a little more last chapter. I will be showing more of Fleur and Harry respectively as we go. Please enjoy chapter 4! And thanks to **Kairan1979** for the Penseive idea—that hadn't been where I planned to take it, but it gave me a better idea. I'm always open to ideas/comments about the story! Also, thank you to all of you who have reviewed, favorited, and followed this story! I am really surprised at the numbers I'm seeing. I sure hope I continue to earn your support!

I would also like to thank Moon's Lullaby, my dear sister and somewhat unofficial beta for this chapter. She's written some good stuff too, so you guys might check her out.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters therein—those belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Further Disclaimer:** Some things may be a little AU from here on out. I like to stretch things a little, so please don't expect everything to be completely by the book. Just a warning! On another note, I don't intend to do much in the way of bashing in this fic. I happen to like the Weasleys, for the most part. Angst, you may well see, but I don't plan on bashing anyone. If I do, I'll add a little something to the disclaimer as a warning.

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"Alright there Harry?" asked Mr. Weasley, as he and Harry stepped out of one of the fireplaces at the Ministry. Harry's jaw had dropped when he saw the vastness of the entryway—all the fireplaces lining the walls, and the incredible numbers of witches and wizards streaming every which way…hundreds! Harry supposed this shouldn't come as so much of a shock, seeing as he had just attended the Quidditch World Cup, which had hosted 100,000 witches and wizards…but that had been people from all over the world. This…these people were mostly English, as far as he could tell. It was hard to believe there were so many witches and wizards just in Britain. Dimly, Harry remembered that Mr. Weasley had been speaking to him.

"Er—yes, sorry Mr. Weasley." Harry managed finally, sheepishly. He had been feeling strangely down all morning—a feeling he couldn't manage to shake off. Arriving at the Ministry and being shocked by a sight he had not expected had the effect of snapping him out of it. Mr. Weasley clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. Harry smiled weakly, relieved that he had managed to throw off his bad mood.

"Yes, the Ministry can seem a bit daunting at first. I had forgotten this would be your first time here. Come then, we've got to get you over to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Only a trained Hit Wizard or Inquisitor is allowed to review the contents of a Pensieve." Mr. Weasley spoke quickly, drawing Harry over to the security station. Harry felt numb as Mr. Weasley drew him through security, and onwards to the elevators. He wasn't paying attention when Mr. Weasley hit the level two button, or started talking to him about what to say and do. It was a strange feeling, almost like he was only half there. The other half of him…he wasn't sure where it was. Ordinarily, a dim part of his mind was trying to tell him, he would want to pay attention. What was a Hit Wizard? An Inquisitor? What did they do? What was a Pensieve? These were all things Harry was unsure about, and things he would ordinarily have wanted to know. Mr. Weasley must have noticed the glassy look in his eyes, because he stopped talking, and simply guided Harry silently from office to office until he found the one he wanted. "Ah," said Mr. Weasley, breaking into Harry's thoughts, "Here we are. Office of Hit Wizard Sean Allan. He's on the payroll as a hit wizard, but he specializes in memory work. Come on then." Harry's heart sped up as, even before Mr. Weasley opened the door, he realized that the other part of himself he had been missing was about to be restored. The world fell back into place around him as he came face to face with Fleur Delacour.

Her silvery hair was as beautiful as ever, and her sapphire eyes drew him into the room. He felt an immense relief, being in her presence. It was so odd, and yet Harry felt more alive now than he had all morning. He suddenly became intensely aware of his own messy, shaggy black hair, the worn-out jeans and converse he had on. The only thing he was wearing of any redeemable quality was the hand-knit green sweater Mrs. Weasley had given him for Christmas last year. He was fervently glad he hadn't gone for the old Chudley Cannons t-shirt he had been eyeing. He swallowed. "H-hi." He managed weakly. With a start, he realized that there was another person in the room. Harry flushed, jerking his eyes painfully away from Fleur's and looking at an unfamiliar man. "H-hello sir. You must be Mr. Allan?" Behind the desk sat a tall, extremely thin man with a hooked nose and the beginnings of white feathering through his mousy brown hair. He wore a small pair of spectacles that rested too far down his nose to do any good, Harry thought, but he was also smiling. This last Harry took for a good sign.

"Well, I'll just leave you lot to it then. Harry, if you need me, I'll be just down the hall." Mr. Weasley nodded to Mr. Allan, and backed out of the room. Harry guessed it was just going to be him, Fleur, and this wizard Allan. Hesitantly, he took the seat next to Fleur. She offered him a tentative smile, and Harry felt his heart skip in his chest. She was so beautiful and…as he had seen the previous night, she was powerful. Harry knew he was beyond attracted to Fleur, and he also knew that nothing could ever work out between them. She was two years older, almost certainly, and she was way too…well…Fleur…to be with him. And she lived in France. Hadn't someone once told him that long distance never worked? Wait. Maybe that was a Muggle saying. God or gods above, Harry hoped it was a Muggle saying.

Harry had liked girls before. In his last year at Hogwarts in particular he had positively flushed every time Cho Chang of Ravenclaw passed him in the corridors. Cho was very pretty, and so were the few other girls that had caught Harry's eye…but there was something about Fleur. A kind of…magnetism. He wanted to look at her forever. Harry flushed at the thought, embarrassed at his own stupidity. He hurriedly turned back around to Wizard Allan, over focusing on the man in his attempt not to over focus on Fleur.

Allan, for his part, was evidently finishing some paperwork. The silence stretched for a minute, two, and then—"Ok. All done. Now we get to the fun part." He gestured to a large, silver basin sitting on the desk in front of him. Harry's eyes latched onto it; somehow he hadn't noticed it upon entering. "This is a Pensieve, in case you weren't aware. We are going to take the memories you have from the night after the Cup and view them here, to corroborate your story about being attacked." Harry bristled, his interest in the Pensieve gone. His green eyes flashed as he looked at the man behind the desk.

"Our 'story'?" he grated. "Why would we make something like that up?" Harry knew he was being irrationally angry, but his sudden confusion over Fleur, combined with the stress of the previous evening, was beginning to build up. A soft hand suddenly gripped his, and Harry looked down in surprise to see Fleur's hand there. He forced himself to relax. Sean Allan, for his part, didn't seem perturbed. Which just irritated Harry further. As if she could sense this, Fleur tightened her grip on Harry's hand, and again Harry took a moment to breathe. "Fine. Let's get on with it then." he managed. Harry knew he was being childish, but he hated being called a liar. Even if that wasn't precisely what Allan had intended. Allan nodded and drew his wand from his pocket.

"Now, all I want you to do is touch your wand to your temple, like this…" Alan touched his wand tip to his own temple to illustrate, "then bring up the memory you want, and whisper '_extractum'._ Then the memory will adhere to your wand, and you can cast it into the Pensieve. Miss Delacour, how about you first?" Harry had a feeling that Fleur already knew how to do this, because it only took her a moment to pull a silvery substance from her head. For a moment, Harry thought it was some of her hair, so similar were the colors. With a wave of her wand, Fleur released the memory into the Pensieve. "Excellent. Now we all need only lean into the swirling mass in the center, and we will be transported into Miss Delacour's memory. Shall we?" The wizard gestured for Harry to go first. With an apprehensive look at Fleur, Harry stood, and leaned into the Pensieve…and suddenly he was falling. Harry sucked in a fearful breath just as he was deposited safely on the ground. He straightened up just as Fleur and the ministry wizard joined him. They had arrived just as Harry and Fleur were running into the bad men. Fleur started explaining what was happening to the other wizard, but Harry could do nothing but watch in awe. It was as if they were actually there, in the moment again! He stared in fascination at himself. His fascination quickly turned into renewed horror as he watched the events unfold. He remembered his fear, and his anger. Two emotions that had been strong in him that night. Turning, he sought out present-day Fleur, and moved to stand next to her. He saw her wince when the greasy man approached her memory-self. Impulsively, Harry took her hand. Fleur shifted her weight so she was shoulder to shoulder with Harry. It didn't seem to matter that Fleur was a little taller than him. Holding her soft hand send a thrum through Harry that made him feel seven feet tall. He smiled slightly, despite the disturbing events unfolding before them. He was happy to be able to offer Fleur a little reassurance. The hit wizard wasn't paying them any mind as he took notes on what he saw, and made very detailed sketches of the men. Harry spoke quietly to her when he felt a tremor pass through her.

"They're all gone now, you know. Chances are, we won't ever see them again." his voice was low, not wanting to attract unwanted attention. Harry felt rather than saw Fleur smile.

"I know. It iz just not fun to see zem again…even in memory. Thank you for coming, 'arry. It would 'ave been…difficult without you." Harry flushed slightly.

"Oh, here we run now. We should keep following Mr. Allan." Harry murmured. He walked after the other man, still holding tight to Fleur's hand. They made it just in time to see Harry get disarmed, and Fleur urge him to keep moving. Suddenly, memory Harry and Fleur stopped. Harry couldn't hear what they were saying, but he remembered what had happened the previous night.

"Fleur," Harry said, "Why _did_ you apologize so much to me right then?" Harry held out his injured arm, pulling back the sleeve of his sweater just enough to reveal the white bandage beneath. He hadn't wanted to bother Mrs. Weasley about it, and so had had Hermione stitch it up for him. Having dentists for parents came in handy sometimes. "The wound really wasn't that bad…and you certainly weren't the cause of it." Harry felt Fleur freeze up beside him and frowned. He was even more alarmed when Fleur carefully took her hand back from him.

"'arry, zere is something I need to tell you…" Fleur whispered. Right then, Allan popped back up.

"Sorry you kids! It seems Miss Delacour was telling the truth about the night's escapades. Now it's time to check Harry's memory." said Allan, with way too much enthusiasm. Before Harry had a chance to say anything, he felt a nauseating pull and found himself falling up and up, back out of the Pensieve.

Harry blinked, and the room swirled around him. Dazedly, he realized they were all back in Allan's office. He was sitting in the chair, like he'd never left. Harry struggled to shake off the nauseous feeling. He felt a light touch to his knee, and turned to see Fleur sitting beside him looking concerned and not at all nauseous. Allan broke in.

"Ah yes," he said apologetically, "Didn't think to warn you. Your first time in a Pensieve can leave the brains a bit scrambled. I'll just give you a minute, shall I?" Allan got to his feet, and Harry turned to look at him in confusion. "I'll be back in a few minutes," said Allan, "I just want to get these sketches over to Mr. Crouch. I have little doubt that your memory Harry, will be the same. When I get back, we will check for sure." Before Harry could find his tongue to respond, the older wizard was gone. Leaving him alone. With Fleur.

If Harry's brains weren't scrambled before, they were now.

Fleur got up, and walked around until she was in front of Harry, leaning against the desk. "'arry, you are making me feel ill. I am going to 'elp you now…hold still." Her quiet voice sent a shiver through him, even in his somewhat addled state. He didn't fully register her words, because soon she had placed a cool hand to either side of his face and leaned in close. Harry found himself drawn to Fleur's sapphire eyes. He gazed deeply, reading her concern…and her fear. He wondered what she was so afraid of, and wished she would tell him so he could take the fear away. Dimly he heard her murmur something, but he was too engrossed with the beautiful blue of her eyes to catch the words she spoke.

All at once it felt like a bucket of cold water had crashed over him. Harry straightened in his seat abruptly and his green eyes widened as the fog in his mind cleared. He stared at Fleur, who was still touching his face. She was staring at him with such an odd expression, Harry didn't know what to think. He reached up and gently took her hands in his own, bringing them down from his face. He whispered, "Fleur?", half afraid to break her trance. Fleur closed her eyes in response and took in a breath. As she did so, Harry remembered what she had said to him before they were pulled out of the Pensieve. "Fleur." He tried again, and at last Fleur opened her eyes and tentatively met Harry's. He held her gaze silently for a moment. "What did you want to tell me?"

Fleur took a deep breath. She did not want to tell him, but he had a right to know. "'arry…you know I 'ave Veela blood in my veins, yes?" She did not wait for a response, but plunged ahead. "I do not know what you know of Veelas…but the blood of a Veela has special properties. My blood has special properties…" Harry tried to interject, but Fleur held up a hand. He could see she was determined to get this out, all in one go, and so he fell silent. Fleur took a steadying breath. She wasn't sure where exactly to proceed. It was suddenly more difficult than she had anticipated, trying to explain pretty much her own existence to a boy who knew nothing of Veela. "The strength of the original Veela matriarch, in zis case my grandmother, and the strength of the blood in a descendant—which iz really something only chance dictates—certain…abilities…become possible. Not every Veela 'as the same…magic?" Fleur paused, scrunching her nose cutely as she tried to think of a better way to phrase it. "It iz like wizards…witches and wizards excel in different things…yes? It iz the same with Veela. Sometimes these abilities get passed down to 'alf blood or, in my case, quarter blood descendants." Fleur's voice trailed off as she looked at Harry, to see if he was following. His green eyes seemed a little puzzled at this information, but he didn't seem confused. She continued. "One trait is the same in all Veela, and in all Veela descendants, however…" she took a breath, this was it, "and that is-" The door crashed open and Sean Allan, Hitwizard, sauntered back into the room. Fleur broke off, startled. Harry had leapt to his feet at this sudden intrusion, his wand half drawn. Allan had the decency to look sheepish.

"Sorry for the scare there, kiddos. Didn't mean to slam the door open." His voice was apologetic, and Harry started to relax. He glanced back at Fleur, and could see the frustration on her face. He felt that frustration himself. She had been about to tell him something, something he knew was very important. He suppressed a groan and sat back in his chair, Fleur settling beside him, as Allan came back around his desk. He pushed the Pensieve forward and looked at Harry expectantly. Harry let out a resigned breath and brought his wand to his temple, as he had seen Fleur do.

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**Greye's Notes:** Ok! So that was mean…but I couldn't have Fleur explaining quite everything all at once! Best to draw it out, don't you think? I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I put a little touchy-feely Harry/Fleur in there for you—just something to whet your appetites. Also, let me know if anything's confusing about what Fleur is telling Harry. I'll try to clear up any misunderstandings in the next chapter.

**P.S.-** Did anyone see that interview with J.K. Rowling recently? Evidently, Harry and Hermione were supposed to end up together. Interesting, eh? Thoughts anyone?


	5. The Big Reveal

**Greye's Notes:** Thank you to all of you who graciously reviewed my last chapter! Thanks again to **Moon's Lullaby** for checking my work ahead of time, on the look-out for major gaffs. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

A note on chapter length. At this time, I am writing as much as I can. I end the chapters where they seem to come to a natural close for me. In time I may be able to write longer chapters, but the length probably won't vary a whole lot. I am not completely happy with this chapter, but I think it accomplishes what I intended.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything Harry Potter! That's J.K. Rowling's schtick.

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Harry took a seat next to Fleur on the bench outside Mr. Allan's office, listening absent-mindedly as the older man thanked them for their time before bustling off to speak to Mr. Crouch. As expected, Harry's memory had been the same as Fleur's. Mr. Allan had gotten some truly "topper" sketches, and asked them to wait outside his office for their guardians to pick them up. Harry thought about that.

Mr. Weasley, he guessed, was his unofficial guardian for now. The thought made him happy, and a little sad. Happy, because he was away from the Dursley's, and the Weasleys were really very kind to him. Sad, because he wished he were with Sirius. Harry quickly banished that thought. He certainly did not wish Sirius were here right now, he told himself sternly. He didn't want there to be any chance his godfather would go back to Azkaban prison. He wished he had never sent a letter to him about his scar.

Hermione and Ron had seemed to agree that it was the right thing to do, but Harry still worried about his godfather. His thoughts turned to the events at the Cup then—which he was sure Sirius had heard about by now—and to Fleur. He had gathered from her that she was part Veela but, even with her descriptions, he wasn't sure he really understood the significance of that.

Hermione had told him a little about Veela before the Quidditch match, since they were the Bulgarian mascot, but that had been decidedly little. Mostly that they weren't native to Britain, and were known for having a very intense effect on men in particular. He had experienced that first hand when the Veela had appeared on the field; they had been women so ethereally beautiful and so alluring that Harry had found himself wanting to do something spectacular just to gain their attention. It was a good thing his own attention had been diverted, or else he might have jumped right out of the top box. Fleur didn't have that effect on him though, beautiful as she was. At least, she hadn't yet.

Harry was so lost in thought, he nearly jumped a foot when Fleur touched his arm.

Fleur jerked her arm back as if scalded, cheeks flushing uncomfortably. "Oh, I am sorry 'arry, I did not mean to startle you." Her voice was quiet, and tense, her blue eyes glancing around to make sure they were unheard. Harry kicked himself for reacting like he had. He waited until she looked at him again.

"No Fleur, I overreacted. Too lost in my own thoughts." He laughed half-heartedly. His thoughts drifted back to the conversation they had been having before Mr. Allan had interrupted them. She had been telling him about Veela.

"Fleur," his voice was hesitant, his green eyes looking at her intently. "What were you going to say, before Allan came back? What is the one trait that all Veela share?" Fleur wouldn't meet his eyes for a minute. This must be really hard for her, Harry thought. She seemed almost afraid to tell him…but how could someone this beautiful, and powerful, be even a little afraid of a scrawny runt like him?

"Fleur," he said again, "Whatever it is, I mean, you barely know me. You don't have to tell me anything." He shrugged self-consciously. "I'm kind of surprised you're talking to me at all." That seemed to snap Fleur out of it. She whipped her head around to glare at him, blue eyes fierce.

"Now don't you start!" Her voice cracked a little. She was angry. "What I look like 'as nothing to do with zis!" Her eyes narrowed to slits and she spoke heatedly to Harry, "My entire life 'as been like a show. The descendants of Veela are, without exception, "beautiful"." Fleur sneered the last word, using air quotes to further show her disdain.

"This "beauty"," she maintained, "iz a curse more often than not, acting as an Allure that we sometimes cannot control. It iz hard to find true friends when all that men, or women, care about iz my face." Fleur stared Harry down, and Harry had the decency to look sheepish. Her chest heaved with ire, and Harry knew he had really done it this time.

He decided to speak. "I'm sorry Fleur. I didn't mean to make you upset. I know better than most what unwanted attention is like." Harry grinned ruefully, and pulled back the bangs of his black hair to reveal the well-known lightning bolt scar. He continued, "I guess I was just surprised you wanted anything more to do with me." Fleur opened her mouth to speak, but Harry raised a hand, urging her to let him finish.

"Not because you're part Veela, or anything like that," Harry assured her, "just because you are the most amazing girl who has ever paid any attention to me whatsoever. I don't mean that in any way other than what it is. I mean, I am only 14, and pretty scrawny to boot." Harry tilted his head and smiled, his eyes clear of any kind of self-pity. He was just stating fact. Fleur found herself blushing faintly, and turned away before he could see. Harry watched her take a breath, before turning back around to face him.

"Very well." she said, accepting his statement. Perhaps Harry Potter understood a little something about superficial attention after all. Being the Boy-Who-Lived would definitely come with a lot of attention—not all of it well-intentioned. "I am sorry I snapped at you. Now I will tell you what you need to know." she broke off, closing her eyes. Harry could see she was mentally preparing herself, but for what he couldn't say.

He waited patiently for her to speak, and was at last rewarded. Fleur's eyes slid open, and she spoke carefully, "'arry, what I 'ave been trying to tell you iz that all Veela have an "ability", for lack of a better word, called the "Bond"." Fleur stopped, taking another breath, unable to meet his eyes.

She continued, "When a Veela's blood is mixed with the blood of another, and great feelings are involved, those two individuals become "Bound"." She risked a glance at Harry, and he smiled encouragingly, still totally lost. Fleur plunged on. "Those two people are then bound, forever. Certain new abilities begin to appear in each person, reflecting some of their partner's abilities and strengths. Overtime, other things can develop. An empathy link, for some, for example. My parents have a link like that… More rarely, some couples can eventually communicate nonverbally. That iz usually something that develops in partners with more Veela blood…" She was rambling now. Fleur put her head in her hands, unable to continue.

Harry was confused as to why Fleur was telling him all of this about Veela. Not that it wasn't fascinating, but he was not sure where she was going with all of this. Still, he could tell she was upset. It was not in Harry's nature to leave someone upset, not like this, and not after they had gone through something terrifying together only the night before.

Hesitantly, Harry slid himself across the bench until he was very close to Fleur. He rested a light hand on her arm, half expecting her to swat it away. "Fleur, you are going to have to tell me more because I don't understand." he kept his voice quiet, not wanting to draw undue attention. His eyes glanced up and down the corridor, wondering what was keeping Mr. Weasley and Fleur's father. He was glad he had this chance to talk to Fleur, but thought it strange they were left alone for so long. Fleur sat up again, and Harry forgot all about Mr. Weasley.

Her voice was so quiet Harry could barely hear her; he had to lean in very close. " 'arry, I am so sorry…but we are Bound…" her voice trailed off, and Harry froze. His dark brows drew down, and he leaned back in the bench, away from Fleur. What? No, he couldn't have heard that right. Bound? With Fleur? But that…that wasn't possible…

Harry ran a hand back through his thick black hair, pulling hard at the roots as his mind raced. He remembered last night as clearly as if someone had stamped the memory into his head. Fleur holding so tight to his arm…him asking her to stop…the strange look on her face and her even stranger apology, even as he noted the cut on her wrist…the pounding fear that had accompanied their frenzied flight… Harry swallowed hard, and reached over blindly for Fleur's right hand, the one that had been holding his injured left arm so tightly. He gazed at the slim silver scar on her wrist, and blinked. Dimly, he heard her speaking.

"E-even w-with magical healing, there w-will always be a scar. For both of us." her voice was choked with tears. _Bound forever._ Harry's mind raced, thinking back over everything Fleur had just explained to him. An empathy bond? New abilities? His eyes widened. That was what she had meant when she said to contact her if he experienced any changes.

But bound? To a girl like Fleur? What would it mean? Did it mean that they…that they were…together? As in, boy and girl? Harry couldn't even bring himself to finish the thought. While he had allowed himself to imagine what it might be like with Fleur briefly after the cup, this was a thing for his wildest dreams—not something that could happen in reality.

With a start, Harry realized that the sound of her crying had changed—she was in pain. He immediately snapped back to the present and looked down. He had her wrist in a vice-grip. Harry released her quickly.

"I'm so sorry." Harry stared at his hand like it was not his own. Fleur was shaking her head.

"N-no, it iz the least I deserve." She was still crying, watching the faint bruise forming on her porcelain skin. It was then Harry realized that this must be awful for Fleur too. Here she was, stuck with him. Forever. Harry was freaking out, and he didn't even fully understand what this "Bond" entailed. He turned to face her, taking her wrist gently in one hand. He was glad to have something else to divert his attention to.

Harry pulled his wand from his pocket, and lightly laid the tip upon her bruising skin. He spoke quietly, fixing the bruise on her skin firmly in mind, "_Sano."_ Fleur watched in surprise as the bruise slowly receded, as if sucking itself up into Harry's wand. "My friend Hermione taught me that," he murmured as he finished up, letting go of her wrist, "I can only do bruises and small cuts with it, but she could probably use it to fix broken bones." He laughed slightly, thinking of his brainy friend. He was relieved to talk about something else, for even a few seconds, but that was over now. Harry closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Fleur, did you Bind us on purpose?" He spoke quietly, waiting for her response.

It was instantaneous.

Fleur sat up ramrod straight, blue eyes flashing again. "Of course not! I would never do such a thing!" her voice was angry. Harry was relieved she had stopped crying, and a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Fleur's voice faltered. "W-why are you smiling?" Harry's head came up, emerald eyes alight.

"You didn't do this on purpose." Harry said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Seeing her confused look, he tried to rephrase the thoughts in his mind, "This is not something either of us planned, so there is no blame in it." Harry rubbed a frustrated hand through his hair, "I can't blame you for something that wasn't your fault. We'll just have to figure this out…together." He raised his eyebrows at her, hoping for a response. Fleur stared at him in bewilderment. Harry waited for a response…and waited.

* * *

~Fleur~

Fleur stared at Harry. She could not believe this boy. She had just poured out this dark secret, this terrible thing that had happened to him… He had bruised her arm in what she had thought was his very justified anger, and then apologized and fixed it with a spell she knew most 14-year-olds couldn't use.

Now he was staring at her with those fathomless emerald eyes that looked so much older than 14, and was telling her that he didn't blame her for what had happened. He was reassuring her, when it was his life that had just been thrown out the window. It took her a few minutes to collect herself. Finally, she spoke.

Fleur spoke quietly, but intently, "I do not think you understand the situation. 'arry, we are bonded for life. There iz no way to break zis bond." He needed to understand. Fleur continued, "Our bond was created from fear, not love, but that does not matter. It will be hard now, so hard, for you to be with anyone…" Her voice faltered and she looked away, anguished.

Fleur was not in love with Harry at this point, and while he was certainly attracted to her, that was not love either. Fleur knew she could never be with anyone else, as long as she lived. The bond for her was too strong. She was too much a Veela to be able to ignore the bond. But Harry…he might be able to push it aside. She did not know. If he did, and did find someone else…she shuddered to think what that would feel like through the bond.

An insistent hand on her arm urged her to turn around again, and she met those green eyes that were undeniably striking. Harry was smiling faintly again, though she couldn't tell why. His voice was so steady, so sure, as he said, "I get it Fleur. We'll work it out. I know we will." His scrawny shoulders rose in a shrug that Fleur suddenly found endearing.

"Besides," he said, "it's not as if either of us have a girlfriend or boyfriend to worry about." His eyes snapped up to Fleur's then, worried. "Wait…do you have a boyfriend?" his voice squeaked a bit at the end, but it was the look in his eyes that did it for Fleur. She threw her silvery head back and laughed. After everything she had told him, _that _was what he was worried about? Fleur was still laughing when her father and Mr. Weasley showed up to get them.

"No," she said for his ears alone, her sapphire eyes sparkling, "I do not 'ave a boyfriend, 'arry Potter." She laughed again and got to her feet, ready to meet her father. "I will see you again soon, 'arry. Send an owl if you 'ave need of me before then." She winked at him, amused by his dazed expression, and left with her father.

Jefferoi smiled at her as they walked away, glad to see her burden had lessened. Perhaps the Potter boy wouldn't be so bad. "How did he take it?" he asked curiously. Fleur glanced up at him, and then looked ahead.

Her voice came eventually, "He took it…rather well. I don't think he really…understands. Papa…I am afraid." She leaned into her father a little bit, eyes still firmly fixed ahead. "He said we would face this together…but when he realizes what _this_ is, I think he will run far away."

Fleur heaved a great sigh, and Jefferoi felt his heart pain him. He wished there were a way to help his daughter. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. The only way to break this bond…would be to kill either Fleur or Harry. Well, Jefferoi decided, if this Harry didn't get his head on straight…Jefferoi would be paying him a little visit.

* * *

~Harry~

Harry stared after Fleur, dazed, bewildered, and oddly happy. Her eyes, he thought. They were so beautiful…seeing them sparkling like that…his heartbeat quickened. What had she meant, that she would "see him soon"? A throat clearing startled him, and Harry glanced up to see Mr. Weasley looking at him with an amused expression.

"Alright there, Harry?" He asked. Harry blinked, his eyes coming back into focus. His face flushed a deep red as he got up from the bench.

"Erm, yeah." He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. Mr. Weasley just smiled at him, and offered one slow, conspiratorial wink.

"I'll not tell the misses when we get back, eh?" Mr. Weasley chuckled, and turned to head back toward the elevator. "Ah, young love! I remember it well…" his voice continued on into some story about some girl or other, but Harry wasn't listening. He was thinking about a girl with silvery hair, and sapphire eyes.

* * *

**Greye's Notes:** This chapter is shorter than the last one, I know. It felt like a good place to stop. So now Harry knows! Next chapter you'll be seeing Ron and Hermione again—you'll get to see their reactions to it as well! Stay-tuned folks, if you like where this is going.


	6. New Clothes

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter! Just my own mind and craziness.

* * *

Harry lay curled up under the covers of his borrowed bed reading by wand light a thick, old book called _Veela and their Ties to Wizard-kind._ He had borrowed it from Hermione ostensibly because he had been fascinated by the Bulgarian mascots at the Cup. Her expression had darkened, and he could swear she had muttered something like "_I know _exactly_ what you're fascinated with"_ but it was not in his friend to deny knowledge to anyone.

She had loaned him the book, saying he could borrow it for as long as he wanted—she had already read it four times. Hearing that Harry had desperately wanted to ask her what she knew about Veela, but he knew he wouldn't be able to lie to her if she asked him point blank if his interest in the subject only had to do with the mascots from the match.

So here he was, squinting at the old pages and hoping to find out more about Fleur's heritage. Having grown up in a decidedly non-magical family (understatement) there were many gaps in his magical knowledge even after three years at Hogwarts. Harry had never even heard of Veela until he saw them at the Cup.

Everything he knew now he had learned from Fleur, and that didn't sit well with him. He wanted to understand what was going on. So he read.

_It is unknown exactly where Veela originated from…for there are records of their existence dating back to our own earliest writings. No witch or wizard has ever learned the truth, for it is in the nature of Veela to be mysterious—or just plain tricky. The little confirmed information available is compiled in this book._

Harry frowned. So no one knew where Veela came from? That seemed strange. Surely Fleur must know, he thought, if her grandmother was one. But maybe not, if they were a secretive race…he continued to read.

_Most Veela encountered today by witches and wizards are not full-blooded. They are mere descendants of the true Veela—all of whom, records indicate, are female. It is unknown if true Veela are able to produce other true Veela in any way, as there has never been a recorded encounter with anything resembling a male Veela. There have been many recorded male part-Veela descendants, the product of wizard/Veela pairings, which puts to rest any doubt that Veela can only bear female children._

_It is also unknown if it is possible for a true Veela to die a natural death._

Harry stared at that line in interest, for it took up an entire page by itself—testifying to its importance. Were full-blood Veela immortal? Surely Fleur was not, Harry thought. He shook himself. It was getting late, and he was tired. There was information he actually wanted to know about—needed to know about. He flipped impatiently through the large tome until he found a section titled "Bonding". His heart sped up as he scanned the pages following, looking for the more vital tidbits:

…_bonded partners of Veela will share their increased lifespan—though unnatural deaths may still occur and are actually quite common…_

…_both partners in a Bond will gradually acquire attributes exhibited by the other…_

Harry paused, irritated with the book. It was like someone had to be Hermione to understand this!

…_essentially a Bond is meant to make partners equal, both physically and with their individual magical capabilities…_

Harry frowned. Equal? He wondered what it would mean to be equal to Fleur…Harry shivered. Even with this Bond thing, he thought, it was unlikely. Not that Harry didn't believe in himself a great deal. When he was on the Quidditch pitch, Harry felt invincible. When Professor Lupin had been putting Harry through his paces last year, he had been proud to excel so quickly. Fleur was just older, and from an entirely different breed. Literally and figuratively. Harry didn't know how he could match up to her—at least, not yet.

Suddenly tired, Harry rubbed a hand over his face. He gazed at the words, but they weren't making sense anymore. Not that they had made much sense before, he thought in dim amusement. Harry tried to blink, but his eyes wouldn't open again. He surrendered to sleep.

* * *

Harry's head slammed into the book, his glasses snapping as something plowed into his back. The muffled laughter told Harry it had been a _someone._ Harry dazedly collected his thoughts.

"GroffmeRon-" Harry grunted, face still painfully mashed against the book. The weight on his back shifted slightly, but in no way diminished.

"What was that?" Came a falsely innocent voice. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the muffling of the blanket. Groaning in resignation, Harry abruptly braced his hands against the mattress and heaved—the weight on his back flew off so quickly Harry was astonished at his own strength. Usually he ended up wrestling with Ron for a while.

He shoved the blanket off himself and climbed out of bed, one hand clutching his broken glasses. Everything was blurry, but he could tell by the relative silence of the three redheads before him—two were remarkably similar blurs—that something astounding had happened. Ron broke the silence from across the room.

"Blimey Harry…you're…you're…well _look_ at you!" Ron's voice was hushed. Frowning, Harry repaired his glasses and put them on. Ron and the twins came into view.

Harry tilted his head, even more irritated. "Well spit it out Ron, you're the one who woke me up!" His voice was agitated, but he stopped as his ears caught up to his mouth. Or rather…his voice. His voice was deeper. Harry groaned inwardly. He wasn't _still_ going through his voice-changing phase, was he? He'd thought he was done with that ages ago.

Ron looked even more bewildered, and slowly stood up. Harry watched in confusion as Ron approached him slowly, looking up at him with eyes wide.

Harry's brain froze.

Looking_ up_?

He looked around slowly and came to the conclusion that he was definitely seeing from a greater height than before. Harry dashed across the cluttered room, knocking into things and thoroughly whacking his head on the way out the door. That sped him on his way even more. Since when had he needed to _duck_?

Harry sprinted into the bathroom, passing a very startled Ginny. Ordinarily he might have found her gaping mouth comical. He only had eyes for the mirror though, and his mouth fell open, mimicking Ginny's. He looked into the green eyes that reflected back at him—they were the only part of himself that resembled the 14 year old boy he had gone to bed as.

Black hair sprouted from his head in a virtual mane-the spiky result probably bed head—that reached nearly to his shoulders. There was an overnight's worth of growth on his face too, and he felt his chin in awe. His eyes fell below his face, taking in the broad shoulders that would easily dwarf his narrow 14-year-old frame. Hesitantly, he lifted his shirt and was astonished to find a flat stomach with the beginnings of a six pack. Harry swallowed. He looked back up into the mirror.

Was this real? Was this happening? It was like he had become 17 overnight. He braced his hands on the sink, ignoring how much bigger they were now too. Judging from his height, he could probably match Fred and George now. He felt so…so high off the ground. Harry closed his eyes and tried to think.

Whatever had caused this…what could have caused this? An aging spell, perhaps? Did such a thing even exist? Harry's eyes snapped wide open as an idea popped into his head. Something he had read…something he had _just _read.

…_essentially a Bond is meant to make partners equal, both physically and with their individual magical capabilities…_

He had thought that an odd statement the night before, but now it became painfully clear to him. Fleur was older than he was. Only by a couple years, but at their age that was a lot when it came to physical development. The magic…the bond…must have sped up his growth rate to match hers. No doubt an easier path than making her younger. Harry placed a hand over his face and groaned.

Just then, Hermione appeared in the bathroom doorway. She was looking over her shoulder at someone Harry couldn't see. "Relax Ginny," Hermione called, "I'm sure it's just some stupid joke." Her head came around and the words died in her throat and she looked at Harry. More like _stared_ at Harry. A faint blush rose in her cheeks. "Oh..oh my."

Harry realized she wasn't going to say anything else. "Hermione?" He asked uncertainly. Her blush inexplicably deepened, and Harry found himself reddening in embarrassment as well. Still, hearing his voice seemed to snap her out of her momentary daze.

Hermione spoke, a trace of her usual self back. "What happened Harry? Did you try some kind of aging potion? Why?" Hermione didn't even know what to ask in this situation. Harry just shook his head.

"No, but I think I know what happened. It's…it's so strange." His voice grew softer as he stared at his hands, which now seemed utter strangers to him. "I'll explain, but I think it best to talk to everyone at once. Could you gather everyone in the kitchen?" His green eyes caught her gaze, hoping she would understand. Hermione looked at him for a long moment, before nodding. "Thanks."

"I'll get everyone." She said, unable to hide the worry in her voice. If Harry wanted to assemble everyone, it had to be serious. After she had gone, Harry turned to look at himself in the mirror again.

He spoke to his reflection, "I didn't want to tell everybody yet. But I think I've got no choice left in the matter." Resolutely squaring his shoulders, Harry headed downstairs to explain himself to everyone. Even if he did only half understand what was going on himself.

* * *

Fleur sat quietly before Madame Maxime. One always sat quietly before the Madame, but Fleur was even more reserved than usual. She sat up straight and looked attentive enough, of course, but she was hearing very little of what her headmistress was telling her.

Fleur was a little busy thinking about Harry Potter. It had been over a week since she had seen him at the Ministry now, and school was about to start. Fleur hadn't heard anything from Harry, and she was worried. What must he be thinking? Had he even thought of her once since the Ministry?

A part of her thought she was being silly about this. After all, she could as easily have sent an owl to him. Fleur wasn't sure what she had expected, but complete radio silence wasn't it. Then the greater fear—what if something had happened to him? He was Harry Potter after all, the Boy Who Lived—and the Boy Who Was Still Hunted. Surely she would have heard something if that had happened though—or felt something?

"Miss Delacour!" Madame Maxime's voice cracked like a whip over her, and Fleur realized belatedly that her headmistress had been trying to get her attention for a while. The large woman eyed her severely, and Fleur tried to make herself look apologetic. "I don't know where you were just then, but you need to pay attention! What I am telling you is important. You are going to be our school's champion in the Tri Wizard Tournament." The Madame's voice sounded proud and happy. Fleur blinked.

Her voice came out harsher than she'd intended, "What?" Fleur shook her head. "What!" She said again, blue eyes practically on fire, "What if I don't want to be this "champion"? Do I not get a say in this?" Fleur realized she was out of her seat, but she was still shorter than her seated headmistress. Madame Maxime met her eyes coolly, and Fleur could see the steely resolve there.

The headmistress's voice came softly, but carried no hint of leeway, "Fleur, you were not chosen for this as punishment. This is a great honor, and there is no one as fitting as you." Fleur stared at her in disbelief. Fleur was pretty good in her studies, and she fancied herself a decent duelist, but she was by no means the best. Her eyes narrowed as she caught on to what Madame Maxime was saying.

Fleur's voice was an uncharacteristic growl, "This is about my father." It was not a question. This was all political. Fleur hated politics, she hated all of the games people continually played with her and her father. Maxime didn't deny the statement. Her chair creaked as she leaned back.

"This school needs financial assistance. I will be blunt. Your father is in a position to help us—it never hurts to offer him an incentive." It was clear that this was the final word in the matter, and Fleur turned her back on Maxime, enraged. She didn't want to be a public spectacle. This was _not_ what she needed right now!

Without a word, Fleur left Madame Maxime's office. She had to go back home and pack for the school year. She was glad she had not brought her things with her ahead of time. She needed to think—and she needed to write to Harry.

* * *

Harry sat at the Weasley's kitchen table, staring at a raised grain in the wood. He could feel everyone staring at him, absorbing his words and..well, absorbing _him._ There was Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione. Bill and Charlie had already gone back to their respective jobs, and Mr. Weasley and Percy had left early for the Ministry that morning.

"So…," began Mrs. Weasley, "This Veela…this Fleur?" She paused, only continuing when Harry nodded. "She's bound you to her? With this Veela Bond?" Harry looked up sharply at that, detecting the rising mama bear in Mrs. Weasley.

He shook his head firmly. "Not on purpose Mrs. Weasley, definitely not on purpose. It was an accident." He took a slight breath, continuing before she could speak. "Fleur didn't seem any happier about it than I am. From what I can understand, the mingling of our blood at the Cup, along with our high-running emotions, was enough for this Bond to take place." Wow, thought Harry, usually he bungled explanations pretty badly. Probably a result of actually reading a little up on this.

Mrs. Weasley frowned, leaning forward as she eyed Harry doubtfully. "But dear, is there no way to reverse this? Being Bound unintentionally like this…it's not right. And look at you! This magic is changing you already." He could tell from her voice that she was worried about him, and he was grateful. Mrs. Weasley had always treated him like one of her own.

"No," he answered, "There's no way to undo it—one of us would have to die." That had been an unspoken truth he had picked up from Fleur, and also something he had read in the book. Harry braved looking around the table at everyone.

Fred and George looked like someone had just played a great joke—they were hiding smiles, and Harry thought they would be teasing him about this is if their mother wasn't sitting at the same table. Ron looked confused, Hermione skeptical, and Ginny dumbfounded.

"What're you going to do mate?" Ron spoke up, looking at Harry seriously. Everyone's gaze on him sharpened, and Harry felt briefly overwhelmed.

Then he smiled, and stuck out his arm—revealing several inches of pale skin beyond the end of his sleeve. "Well, I had thought I should go clothes shopping." There was a stunned silence, and thenthe three women squealed a little. Ron groaned. Harry just laughed. At the moment, he didn't know what he was going to do. He would just have to take all of this one step at a time. Maybe when he saw Fleur next, she would be able to help.

Harry didn't have a whole lot of time to go shopping, as he would have to make the Hogwarts Express the very next day. With Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny's help in London and Diagon Alley, he soon had a whole new wardrobe. In addition to new robes—and dress robes, which he needed this year for some reason—Harry had bought himself new Muggle clothes. The older students at Hogwarts often forewent the traditional robes in favor of jeans and sweatshirts, though it was still considered proper to wear an outer-robe over top, at the least.

He had acquired a few pairs of dark jeans—that Mrs. Weasley assured him could be casual or dress—as well as some dress slacks. He had found some t-shirts and button-up tops he liked as well, and Mrs. Weasley had promised to knit him some new sweaters for when the weather turned colder. More than satisfied, Harry had snuck away from the three women with Ron to go and find some ice cream. They ended up at Florean Fortescue's, and sat outside his parlor, eating and talking.

Ron looked at Harry seriously. It was a look Harry hadn't often seen on his friend's face, and he mentally prepared himself. Now, at last, they would have an actual conversation about what had happened. "Mate," Ron began at last, "You didn't really go into detail about this whole "Bond" thing. Are you sure you're okay with it?" Ron took a lick of his Mint Worm ice cream cone as he waited for a response. (It was called such because it tasted like mint, but glowed green from cave glow worms.)

Harry took a breath, staring bracingly at his Double Chocolate Ear Wax sundae. He had known he would have to talk about this with his best friend. He was just glad it was only Ron, for now. For all that he loved Hermione, there were some things he didn't like to talk about in front of her.

"I don't know Ron," Harry spoke honestly for the first time, relieved to confide in someone. "This is all so strange," he held one of his hands out in front of himself—it felt larger than life to him at the moment. Harry had been struggling all day with his new body. Well, he guessed it wasn't exactly new, but it was _bigger._ Harry was suddenly several inches taller than he had been, and it had made for some awkward moves.

He looked up at Ron, thinking about this Bond thing with Fleur. "But I guess I'm not not-okay with it? I just don't understand it all yet." On some level, Harry knew that what he had with Fleur now was serious. He had yet to grasp the ramifications. For once, Ron was ahead of the curve.

The redhead sat back in his seat, blue eyes appraising Harry worriedly. "Harry, this means that you already know who you're going to be with, forever though. Right? I mean, I know a little about Veela —Bill mentioned once that he works with Veela—and there's no escaping. There are couples my brother knows that really dislike each other, but can't have good relationships with other people because they are so tightly bound to each other. I didn't fully get what he meant until now." Harry's brows drew down at this—he hadn't really considered that what had happened between him and Fleur had effectively sealed his romantic fate. He had also never heard Ron speak so authoritatively on a subject. He was suitably impressed. He didn't remain so long, however, as Ron's words hit him.

Did this mean that he now belonged to Fleur? That they would be together, whether either of them wanted it or not? Harry felt a surge of irrational anger. He slammed his hand down on the table, green eyes blazing. "This is stupid!" Harry abruptly found himself standing, and didn't care. "Don't we get a choice in this? What about what Fleur and I want?" Ron was leaning back, holding his hands up placatingly, but Harry didn't pay him any attention.

"And look at me! I've probably just lost two years off my life thanks to this magic, and who knows how long that's going to be with Voldemort running around?" Ron was standing now too, and Harry felt his friend take his arm.

"Sorry—I didn't mean to get you all riled up. Take it easy, okay?" Ron wasn't great at being a calming influence, but people were starting to become alarmed, especially when Harry had used the Dark Lord's name. "Let's just eat our ice cream," he said, guiding a still-fuming Harry back into his chair, "Mum, Ginny, and Hermione ought to be finishing up soon and we can go home for a last game of Quidditch before the summer ends, eh?" Harry at last nodded, and took a half hearted bite of ice cream. "Look at it this way, mate, at least you got bonded to a knock-out like Fleur! Any guy would consider himself lucky if she gave him the time of day—and now she's all yours!" Harry just rolled his eyes, but was grateful for Ron's companionship.

He didn't say another word the entire trip back to the Burrow from Diagon Alley, too lost in his own mind. So he and Fleur were stuck together—they would never be allowed to find true love? He felt a pang as he thought of Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw girl he thought was really pretty and sweet. He would have no chance to ask her out now. Harry doubted the Bond would be able to physically stop him, but it didn't seem fair to date one girl when he was bound to another. Poor Fleur, he thought. She hadn't even ended up with someone her own age. And as a Veela, or part Veela, she understood this whole predicament a lot better than Harry did. Harry was suddenly grateful for his own ignorance—he doubted he could handle the whole truth.

Once back at the Burrow, Harry ended up declining a game of Quidditch with Ron and his brothers. He wasn't in the mood. Instead Harry went to bed, missing the looks of concern the others cast after him.

Once he was safely out of earshot, Mrs. Weasley turned on her children and Hermione. "Alright. There'll be absolutely no teasing about this, understand?" This comment was mostly directed at Fred and George, who groaned in unison. "This is a very serious matter," she continued sternly, "and each of you is going to have to do your best to help Harry through it. I've already sent an owl to the Ministry about this—surely someone there can sort this out." Mrs. Weasley said this with such conviction, that Ron groaned.

Hermione cast him a strange look, and he knew she didn't understand. His meddling mother had just made things worse for Harry. There was nothing, he knew, that the Ministry could do about this short of sending a Hit Wizard squad after Fleur—which wouldn't happen. Even if Harry was the Golden Boy of England, Fleur was the daughter of the French Minister for Magic. No, the only thing Mrs. Weasley had succeeded in doing was ensuring that the Daily Prophet would hear about what had happened. Harry was about to make another front page debut, Ron was sure.

He turned toward the stairs and started up them to go and warn his friend. "Suddenly," said Ron, "I don't feel like playing Quidditch either." The ride to Hogwarts on the morrow was going to be infinitely uncomfortable.

* * *

**Greye's Notes:** Sorry for the wait on this one. A combination of life and writer's block stunted its growth. I had too many ideas and wasn't sure what would work out the best ultimately.

Also, thank you thank you to all of my amazing reviewers! I have a crazy amount of followers on this fic now, and people who have favorited it! I am really astounded.

Just a note though. I have been receiving some concerns about this fic, and while I appreciate all suggestions (and encourage them!) I want to make it clear that I am writing this fic for myself as well as for all of you. Ultimately, I will continue in the direction that I choose and I hope that you all continue to like it. If you don't, then you don't have to read it.

The next chapter shouldn't take as long, but don't expect it to be quite this long. This length is partially to make up for my lateness. Next up: Fleur's letter and a note from Sirius.


	7. Train Ride

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter!

* * *

As predicted by Ron, the ride back to Hogwarts was like a circus. In more ways than one.

The first thing everyone noticed was, well, Harry himself. 14-year-old Harry had effectively become—physically-17-year-old Harry, and this drew a lot of attention. And, well, Harry just looked good.

Harry had chosen a pair of dark wash jeans, a light t-shirt, and his new leather jacket. The leather was beautiful, a very dark brown that produced a high luster. It was supple, and very comfortable. It had been chosen by Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny while Harry and Ron were getting their ice cream. Harry didn't think he himself could have justified the extravagance despite his small fortune, but the jacket did look really good. He had drawn the line at his shoes that morning. Hermione had argued with him endlessly, trying to convince him to wear one of his new pairs, but Harry wanted to wear his old Chucks. And so he did. They were a little incongruous with the rest of his outfit, but Harry didn't care. They were comfortable, and were at least one more thing that hadn't changed.

Getting himself and his friends onto the train became an ordeal when old friends from Hogwarts had swooped down on them.

"Harry! Wow mate, you must've grown a foot!" from the boys,

and

"Hiya Harry…it's good to see you again," from the girls.

At last, though, Ron, Harry, and Hermione were comfortably settled into their own compartment. Each released a sigh and settled down for the train journey to start.

Harry jumped when a bird suddenly flew into the window. He stared at the glass. It was Hermione who finally leaned forward and pulled the window open.

"Honestly," she said, "It's like you've never seen owl post before!" That snapped Harry out of it, and he watched as a small spotted owl flew into the compartment. The bird dropped a letter into his lap, and settled onto the luggage rack above their heads to take a rest. Ron and Hermione eyed the letter curiously.

When Harry had first seen his name scrawled on the front, his heart had jumped to think that maybe, just maybe, Fleur had written to him. He now recognized Sirius' handwriting, however, and felt ashamed by the pang of disappointment he was now feeling. Feeling the curious stares of his friends, he looked up apologetically. "It's from Sirius." He informed them.

"Well, what's he say?" Asked Ron impatiently. Hermione smacked his arm in irritation. Harry felt his mouth quirk up into an unbidden smile before he tore the note open. He quickly scanned the contents before reading them aloud:

_Harry,_

_ The pain you felt in your scar added to the events at the World Cup cannot be coincidence. I do not know what they mean yet, but it is clear that you are in danger. Hardly an unfamiliar condition, I know, but please be on your guard. I am coming back, though it may be some time before you see me. Stick close to your friends in the meantime._

_ Your Bond with this Veela girl worries me too, but it is not my immediate concern. From what I know of Veela bonds, they are supposed to make partners stronger. In your current situation, any added strength is a bonus. The situation may not be ideal, but I say never look a gift horse in the mouth. And who knows? Maybe you will grow to like this Veela girl, and the personal side of things won't be so bad._

_ We'll talk more once I'm there. Stay safe._

_ Padfoot_

It was probably one of the longest letters Sirius had ever written him, and Harry savored every word. Up until it hit him exactly what it meant that he was coming back. Hermione beat him to the punch.

"No! He can't come back—the Ministry is still looking for him!" Her eyes were wide with concern, and she was staring at Harry like she expected him to do something.

Harry frowned, "I can't stop him, if that's what you mean. I don't even know where he is!" Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Ron grabbed her arm. His face paled.

"Harry," said Ron, his voice had a sickly quality to it. "How did Sirius know about Fleur?" Silence met his question as both Harry and Hermione found themselves at a loss for words.

The compartment door suddenly slid open.

"Well look here boys, we've found Potter and his little sidekicks." The mocking voice of Draco Malfoy sent an instant shard of anger through Harry. Harry stared up at Draco's pale, sneering face with undisguised hatred. "Should we be worried," Malfoy drawled, leaning against the door frame, "about your "evil seductress"? I wouldn't want to be a "hapless victim"." Harry's look of rage became tinged with confusion. This seemed to be what Malfoy was looking for, because he pulled out a paper with a flourish.

"Here you are Potter," Malfoy was smiling in the way only true snakes smiled, "enjoy the read. I sure did." The copy of the Daily Prophet landed in Harry's lap. Harry looked down and stared at the front page headline: _BOY-WHO-LIVED SEDUCED BY FRENCH VEELA_.

Harry's mouth fell open. He tried to read the article, but the words were blurring as his mind raced. How had this happened? How had the Prophet found out? And why, WHY, was it so DAMNED important that everyone in the world know about his life? His breathing picked up. Harry was so tired. Tired of everyone making a big deal out of everything he did, or said, or thought. He was tired of the looks he got from people, the way everyone always looked right at the scar on his forehead instead of seeing him, an actual person.

Malfoy was still talking, but Harry didn't care. At least, not until he heard Fleur's name. His green eyes came up, rage-filled. Malfoy kept talking, not noticing the murderous look on Harry's face.

"Not sure why any girl would choose you, but then, maybe she's not right in the head." Malfoy's sneer widened as he relished in his own voice. "As the daughter of the French Minister, no doubt she'll be turning up at Hogwarts soon. Perhaps we Slytherins could show her that there are…better men…to choose from. We'll be sure to show her a good time for you, Potter." It was then Draco's eyes fell to Harry's, and for the first time saw the look on his face. Malfoy paled.

Harry flew up out of his seat and fisted his hands in Malfoy's robes, shoving him bodily out of the compartment and into the corridor wall. Harry brought his face down close to Malfoy's, and it seemed as if only now was the Slytherin boy realizing that Harry had had a growth spurt.

Harry's voice came low, his eyes flashing dangerously, "If you so much as _look_ at Fleur, I will make you wish you'd never been born." Harry balled a fist and slammed it into Malfoy's gut, smiling in satisfaction when the other boy doubled over, gasping for breath. "Where are your smarmy words now?" Harry brought his knee up into Malfoy's face, and found himself immensely pleased by the spurt of blood he saw. There were just some things magic couldn't replace.

Perhaps having this big new body wasn't such a bad thing. Harry glared at Malfoy's henchmen, and the two boys immediately backed off. Harry shoved Malfoy down the corridor, enjoying the stumbling of the blond monster. Giving Malfoy something more than gossip to think about was refreshing.

Harry stilled, and looked around. Several heads were poked out of compartments, staring at him and the retreating Malfoy. Ron's head was among them.

"Excellent! Maybe they'll leave us alone this year, eh?" The optimistic look on Ron's face was so surprising that Harry had to laugh. Ron frowned, "Nah, they'll always be gits won't they?" Harry laughed again, and slipped back into their compartment. The laughter died when he caught the look Hermione was giving him.

"You're awfully protective of a girl you just met…" Hermione stated, her voice and face serious. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Or maybe I just liked having a reason to punch Malfoy." Harry smirked, and Hermione sat back, miffed. Harry softened. "Hermione, I just don't want them to give her a hard time. She's not a bad person." He paused, and glanced out the window. "And maybe I am a little angry about all this attention. I get tired of it, you know?"

Harry picked up the Daily Prophet and stared at it. "How on earth did they even find out? I only told you guys, and…" Harry looked up even as Ron spoke.

"Yeah. Us, and my mother." The look of guilt on Ron's face and righteous justification on Hermione's was enough to tell Harry that something had happened.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What happened?" His friends sat back a little at the sound of his voice; Hermione spoke first.

"She was just trying to help Harry, I mean, it is a difficult situation you've found yourself in." Harry stared piercingly at her, and she swallowed.

"What did she do Hermione?" Harry's voice came out harsher than he'd intended, but it got the point across. Hermione leaned a little away from him, not meeting his eye. Ron, for his part, just sat silently. Waiting.

"Em," Hermione whispered nervously, "She may have sent a letter to the Ministry."

Harry closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, utterly silent. His hands curled around the seat cushion under him, fingers tightening until his skin was stretched tight across his knuckles. His eyes snapped open and landed on Ron who actually jumped a little. Ron _had_ mentioned the night before that his mother had sent a letter to someone about what had happened, but he had been so tired he must have missed exactly who she had sent the letter to.

"Ron." His best friend eyed him nervously. "Why did your mother send a letter to the Ministry without asking me?" Harry thought his tone was quite polite, but Ron paled. In actuality, Harry's voice was very scary. Its lower pitch gave it a darker feel, which got even worse when Harry looked all still and quiet.

Ron finally answered.

"I dunno mate. She just…does things sometimes that she thinks are for the best! I know she didn't mean any harm by it…" Ron trailed off, wincing slightly as if expecting Harry to explode all over him like he had done to Malfoy before. Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes again.

What Mrs. Weasley had done, however well intentioned, had just left Harry in a very awkward—and potentially painful—position. In addition to what it would inevitably do to Fleur's reputation in France. Harry had wanted to keep the whole thing under wraps for as long as possible, at least until he had talked to Fleur again. He was angry with Mrs. Weasley for going behind his back. But he certainly couldn't throw her against a wall. Opening his eyes, Harry pulled out a piece of parchment, and wrote her a letter:

_Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

_ I appreciate everything you have done for me over the years. Taking me into your home, and into your family. I have always counted myself very lucky to have become friends with Ron, and to have met you when I did. Without you and your family, I am sure my time at Hogwarts would not have been as enjoyable._

_ However. As much as I appreciate your good intentions toward me and all of the help you have rendered thus far, I would rather that you did not contact the Ministry on my behalf again. I want to keep my private life private, and it is for me to decide who gets to know what and when. I told you in confidence what happened to me at the World Cup because I trusted you, and I feel that you have now betrayed that trust by telling the Ministry. Once again I am plastered all over the front page of the Daily Prophet, and I don't think I need to tell you how uncomfortable that is._

_ You do not have the authority or the right to make decisions like this for me. That being said, I want you to know that I still do care deeply for you and your family. Please in future respect me enough to make my own decisions._

_ Yours Respectfully,_

_ Harry Potter_

It took Harry the rest of the train ride to finish his letter. He wanted it to be polite, but firm. Then he tied it to the leg of the spotted owl Sirius had sent to him, and sent him on his way to Mrs. Weasley. Both Ron and Hermione were trying to look small in the seat across from him. Harry didn't bother trying to make them feel more comfortable. He pulled on his Hogwarts robe over his clothes, and got ready for his homecoming. At the very least, he thought, the feast would be good. And he might actually make the sorting this year. Feeling slightly cheered, Harry spent the rest of the trip looking out the window, lost in thought.

Remembering Sirius' letter, he was comforted by his godfather's practical view of his situation with Fleur. No doubt Sirius had learned of the situation from the Prophet. If Sirius wasn't worried, then Harry wouldn't worry too much either. He would write to Fleur tomorrow, he decided. It was about time he sent her a letter. Frowning, he remembered what Malfoy had said about seeing her soon. Fleur had said something about that when he had seen her before as well. He hoped the feast tonight would answer the question of why they were expecting students from other schools.

* * *

**Greye's Notes:** Ok, so this chapter was supposed to be up in a much more timely fashion. I had a little accident on my motorcycle, which distracted me from this chapter. I'm not too much the worse for wear now, and my bike's ok. I was just pretty rattled. I hope you all can forgive my distraction, and the comparative shortness of this chapter.

Reviewers one and all, I thank you for your continued patronage! I am continually astonished by the kind words and insights I keep receiving. I am so glad most of you seem to be enjoying this story thus far. Thank you as well to all of those who followed/favorite this story. It really does mean a lot.

Thanks also for the Madame Maxime correction! I appreciate that—I went in and fixed it right away. I am kind of surprised I messed up her name. We didn't see Fleur this time, but she'll be back next time.


	8. Letters

**Disclaimer:** Once again, I don't own Harry Potter! Not even a teensy tiny bit.

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_ I am truly sorry for the flood of attention on you now—a result of the bond between us. I know that you, like me, do not like that kind of attention at all. I wish there were a way that I could help. As I'm sure you can imagine, I am in a similar situation back in France. How are you doing?_

_ The reason I am writing you now is because we did not really get the opportunity to discuss our Bond in any depth. By that I mean, what the effects might be on you and me. Harry, some things about you might begin to change. I don't know precisely what because every Bond manifests differently, but I do know that there will be _something_ that changes. The Bond tries to even things out between partners, typically. Each Bond has its own idea about what would accomplish that equality, however. No one really knows what the Bond is—whether just an extension of magic itself, or another entity altogether._

_ I guess what I'm saying is, please tell me about any changes that happen, no matter how small they appear to you. I know our situation is not one that either of us would have chosen, but I think that we should keep in contact and share our experiences. It's the only way we will grow._

_ Please send me a reply when you have the opportunity._

_Fleur _

Harry sat back after reading Fleur's letter, letting his back rest against the cool stone behind his bedstead. He had received her letter in the midst of dinner—highly unusual for an owl to show up during dinner—but had decided to wait to open it when he got back to his room. His heart had leaped when he had seen his name on the envelope, in handwriting that simply must be hers.

Harry took a deep breath, smelling the faint, clean scent that was Fleur. She didn't smell like flowers or fruit like so many girls did. No, she smelled clean and crisp, like a fresh wind off the ocean or on the top of a mountain. Not that Harry had ever been to the top of a mountain, and he had only been to the beach once with the Dursley's when he was eleven. He took another breath. It was a wonderful smell, whatever it was.

The feast had been no better than feasts previous, but he had been able to see the sorting. Listening to the hat had been really fun, and Harry had relaxed enough to laugh and talk with Ron and Hermione again. He was still angry that they had allowed Mrs. Weasley to do what she had done, but he understood that ultimately they couldn't have stopped her.

Now though, reading Fleur's letter, it was hard to focus on anything else.

Harry pulled a roll of parchment toward him and dug out a quill that had seen better days from beneath his mattress. Peeves liked to drip ink on his face using his own quills while he slept—Harry had gotten into the habit of stuffing his quills under his mattress to hide them from the poltergeist.

_Dear Fleur,_ Harry began, and paused. What should he say? He felt his face warm, and was glad none of the other boys were back in the dorm yet to see his face. He didn't want to say the wrong thing…Malfoy's words from the train came floating back to Harry unbidden. It was stupid, Harry knew, to expect Fleur to like him—to do more than tolerate him. She hadn't wanted this bond, whatever it was. Harry had to admit though that the effects, while startling at first, were rather useful. Turning back to the letter with a little more confidence, he continued.

_I am really glad that you wrote to me. Some things have been happening that I think you should know, maybe you can even explain them. But first, I am truly, truly sorry about what the Daily Prophet said. My best friend's mum wrote to the Ministry about what happened to me, which is likely why that article got written._

_ As for what has happened… Well, I've grown about a foot. Practically overnight. When I woke up a few days ago looking liked I had aged several years, I'll admit I freaked out a little. When you see me again, I won't be shorter than you anymore. Don't worry too much—the extra height and reach is actually coming in pretty handy. My friend Hermione and my friend Ron's sister Ginny were ecstatic because I had to go clothes shopping._

_ Has anything changed for you? That's pretty much it for me. I guess the Bond sped up my physical growth to match yours? If what you're telling me about the Bond is right. Which I'm sure it is._

_ I know now about the Triwizard Tournament as well. I wish that you were coming before October—there is still a lot for us to figure out. But I guess I should just be happy that you are coming at all._

Harry paused, thinking. Was there anything else he could say? Suddenly remembering Dumbledore's speech about the Triwizard Tournament, and how dangerous it was, he felt a shiver of worry. What if Fleur was chosen, and she got hurt? That was another thing…if one of them got hurt, what would happen to the other? Harry would have to be more careful this year. And, for the first time since he had heard about this Tournament, Harry wanted to be a part of it. He was only 14, but he wanted to find a way to participate. He knew it was ludicrous to think that he could offer more protection for Fleur than she could provide for herself, but he wanted to try. Harry looked down at his letter and picked up his quill.

_Fleur, I take from what you said to me before that you definitely will be entering into the Tournament. The way my headmaster spoke of it, this is a very dangerous event. Professor Dumbledore never exaggerates danger—if anything, he often understates it. Please Fleur be careful, I don't want to lose you before we've even gotten to know each other._

_See you in October._

_Harry_

Harry finished his letter and looked it over carefully before rolling it up. As if anticipating his need, he saw Hedwig sweep in through the open window beside his bed. "Hey girl. I need you already." Hedwig hooted softly and landed on his knee. Harry took a moment to stroke her soft feathers and smiled. She really was his most prized possession—if such a dignified owl could be considered a possession. She had been his first real friend, even before Ron.

"I need you to take this to Fleur Delacour. She'll be at Beauxbatons." He carefully tied his letter to Hedwig's leg as he spoke. "I'm sure you can find her. I don't know how Beauxbatons does mail, so you'll have to figure it out." She nipped his finger affectionately, and Harry laughed. "Alright, I know. You know what you're doing, even if I don't. Off you go then." He watched as Hedwig spread her snowy wings and lifted silently out the window. He missed her already.

* * *

Fleur stared angrily at the blank parchment in front of her. She was supposed to be writing a paper for her Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but no words would come. She had to fill up a roll and a half of parchment deciding whether or not she should use a curse to dispel a hex. Fleur knew this was important, but it was hard to make herself care when she had so many other things to think about.

Like how Madame Maxime was using her to lever money from her father and curry favor with the ministry.

Like surviving a school day after that stupid newspaper article.

Like Harry.

Fleur put her head down on the table, ignoring the other people around her in the dormitory. It was getting late, and more and more people were streaming in to go to bed. Fleur knew that she should try to write more before sleeping too, but she couldn't. She felt an overwhelming urge to talk to Harry. To be near him. She barely knew this boy, but she craved his presence now like an addict. She felt stupid for it. Which made her angrier still.

It was probably the Bond, Fleur knew, and Harry was probably feeling something similar. But it didn't make the reality of it any easier. She wouldn't be seeing Harry until the end of October. Fleur knew she would have to get her act together before then. She groaned aloud, a very un-ladylike sound.

* * *

A rapid tapping on the window brought Fleur around. She moaned in pain as she came to, feeling the incredible stiffness in her neck and shoulders. Slowly, painfully, she lifted her head from the table. She had fallen asleep in the common room. Fleur swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. "What?" She blinked and looked around, focusing on a white owl at the window, still busily tapping her beak against the glass. It took her brain a few seconds to process, and then "Oh!"

Fleur quickly got up, staggering as blood rushed into her limbs, and opened the window to let the beautiful owl swoop in. She settled on the desk and looked at Fleur expectantly. "Who could you be from?" Fleur sank back into her chair and carefully detached the letter from the owl's leg. She was the most beautiful snowy owl Fleur had ever seen, and she definitely didn't recognize her. The school didn't own any snowy owls either. "Let's see then." The owl continued to look at her expectantly, and Fleur caught up.

"Oh, here." She pulled a plate across the table that had a few rashers left on it from the night before. Fleur had brought it back to the dorm after dinner because she hadn't felt hungry. "They're cold, but help yourself." As Hedwig busied herself with the food, Fleur opened the scroll.

_Dear Fleur…_

Fleur gasped in surprise as she realized that this letter was from Harry. A pleasant tingle worked its way from her fingers through the rest of her body, and Fleur read slowly. She didn't want to finish too fast.

As she read, a frown began to build on her face. She couldn't imagine the mother of a friend doing what this woman had done. Fleur wondered if she realized the damage she had caused. Fleur was being completely ostracized at school. Not everyone had known she was part Veela, but they all sure did now. Her father had had to deal with countless unending press conferences, and Fleur was sure Harry was suffering for it too, even if he hadn't said anything. That took an awful lot of nerve. She kept reading.

Harry had…grown? She would have to ask her father if he had ever heard of the Bond manifesting itself in such a physical way. She was relieved that Harry didn't seem angry about it, at least. For now. She shook herself. Finish the letter, then analyze.

Fleur couldn't help reading the rest rather quickly, and felt a faint flush rising in her cheeks. Harry was worried about her? _Please Fleur be careful…_ She read the words again, her lips quirking into a smile. _I don't want to lose you…_ Realistically, Fleur knew that Harry was just being kind, but this letter had been just what she needed. Fleur let herself enjoy his words for a moment longer before pulling the parchment forward that she had planned on using for her Defense Against the Dark Arts paper. That could wait, she thought, and this couldn't.

Despite what Harry had said about being fine, Fleur was sure he was at least a little uncomfortable. Having changes like that happen to your body overtime was disconcerting on its own, but waking up in a body that was different than what you went to bed with had to be more so.

She glanced up at the snowy owl, which was happily chowing down on her leftover rashers, and figured she wouldn't mind waiting for a reply to take to her master. Fleur dipped her quill into her inkpot and began.

_Dear Harry…_

* * *

Harry was down eating breakfast with Ron and Hermione when the owls came in. He immediately looked up, searching for Hedwig even though he knew she likely wasn't back yet. His eyes roved for a flash of white amongst the grey, tawny, and black, but he had no luck. His friends looked at him questioningly, but he just shook his head. He didn't feel up to telling them about Fleur, not just yet.

"Cheer up mate." Said Ron, glancing at their schedule for the day. "We lucked out for the morning—Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures first." When Ron suddenly grimaced, Harry looked over at the schedule for himself and shook his head in irritation. They were still stuck with the Slytherins for Hagrid's class. Then Harry groaned as his eyes took in Double Divination.

"I swear, if Professor Trewlaney starts fortelling my death again…" Harry muttered darkly. Hermione tsked across the table even as she flipped through an Arithmancy book.

"If you had dropped it like me, you wouldn't be in this situation. Why don't you just drop Divination and take something else? There are loads of better classes!" Hermione finally looked up from her book and stared at Harry seriously.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Better classes like what? Muggle Studies? Runes? I've got no interest in those."

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "But either would be better than sitting in that smoky room being told you're going to die."

Harry had to admit she had a point.

* * *

After they departed for lessons, Harry and Ron fell in together in Herbology. As they had walked across the castle lawns to the greenhouses, Harry could feel that Ron wanted to talk to him. Their proximity to the Hufflepuffs had made it impossible until they started working on the Bubotubers.

Finally, "Harry…I…I need to talk to you about something." Ron was looking at him nervously, as though expecting him to explode, and Harry supposed it was to be expected with recent events.

Harry offered Ron a smile. "Ok, so let's talk." He wondered what could have his friend tied up in knots when ordinarily Ron was content to spill everything on his mind at any given moment.

Ron looked so relieved that Harry felt bad for his behavior the previous day. Ron kept his voice low, "It's about Lavender." Harry frowned, shooting a glance across the greenhouse to the girl in question, a Gryffindor. He wasn't sure what Ron could possibly be going to say about her. They'd barely exchanged a handful of words.

Ron continued. "She's been sending me letters." Harry felt his eyebrows rise at this. When? When had she sent him letters? "I was going to tell you at the World Cup, but then…well. And then I was going to tell you once things had settled down at home, and then…"

And then Harry had had his growth spurt, and again attention was on him. The Gryffindors largely had accepted the new Harry after a few initial good-natured jibes. Everyone just assumed he had had a growth spurt over the summer—not overnight. Harry felt bad that he hadn't known this was going on with Ron. He was determined to be there for his friend now.

"What was she writing you about?" Harry asked curiously, and Ron shrugged uncomfortably. Harry watched in fascination as his friend's ears turned pink.

Ron was silent for a few moments, and Harry decided to focus on pus-retrieval while he collected his thoughts. Whatever was going on, Harry thought, it was rendering his usually vocal friend speechless.

At last, "At first it was just "Hey Ron, how's your summer?", and I thought "wow, that's nice that a girl is actually talking to me"." Ron shrugged sheepishly, and Harry hid a grin. "So I decided I'd write her back, you know, just for something to do." Harry nodded, waiting for Ron to continue. "Now though, I think she thinks we're together." Ron's ears turned pink again and his eyes were very carefully studying his shoes. "After the welcoming feast she pulled me behind that witch on the third floor and kissed me." The words came out so low and fast that Harry wasn't at first certain he had heard right.

"She kissed you?" He asked, just to clarify. He was shocked, but he tried to keep that reaction out of his voice knowing how insecure Ron felt about himself.

Ron's eyes crept up to meet his. "Yeah." Harry could see the uncertainty there, but he didn't know what to tell his friend. What did you say in a situation like this?

"Well do you like her?" Harry settled on. He thought that was a safe enough question.

Ron looked somewhat bashful, which Harry hadn't thought possible, as he squeezed a bubotuber into a container. "Erm, I guess…I mean, I think I do." Ron glanced around anxiously then and stared at Harry.

"But what about Hermione?" Came Ron's voice pitched low.

Harry frowned. "What about her?" Harry felt lost as Ron' rolled his blue eyes in desperate exasperation.

"Don't you know anything Harry?" Ron exclaimed, "Hermione's been in love with me since we were first years!"

* * *

**Greye's Notes:** Stopping it there is a little dramatic for me, but I thought a side interest while we wait for Fleur was in order.

Speaking of Fleur, she made an appearance this chapter, hurray! This chapter was meant to progress her and Harry's relationship just a little. Now they're writing to one another. And remember, not everything I do will be in canon.

I'm very sorry about the wait you had to endure on this one. A lot was happening to me all at once and, well. Here we are. I'm not the most reliable author at the moment, but I _will _update. Rest assured.

Most importantly, thank you, thank you, thank you, to my most excellent reviewers and to all of the wonderful people who have followed and/or favorited this story! I am so happy you have enjoyed it thus far, and I hope you continue to like it.


	9. Girls, Girls, Girls

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be out living my life and having a grand old time. Since I don't, I'm here writing a fanfiction for all of you, and for me.

* * *

Harry had been so shocked by Ron's claim that he hadn't been able to give Ron much of a response the rest of Herbology. And they certainly couldn't talk about it during Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins. That left lunch, but they were sitting with Hermione during that too. Harry couldn't even meet her eyes as he thought of Ron's ludicrous claim.

Or was it ludicrous?

Harry hadn't really thought of it, but maybe Hermione did actually like Ron. He shot a side glance at his friend and watched as he stuffed his face full of sausages and shook his head slightly. No, Harry thought, he didn't think Hermione liked Ron in that way. At least, he doubted she was _in love_ with Ron. And if she ever found out Ron thought so… Harry shivered.

Harry was so preoccupied that he didn't even get as angry as he normally would have when Professor Trelawney did indeed predict his death…again. After Divination though, Harry drew Ron aside.

"Ron, I don't think you've quite got this right. I'm pretty sure that Hermione is not in love with you." He kept his voice low, even though he was sure no one else was around. Ron shook his head insistently.

"Harry, haven't you noticed? She's always hanging around us. At first I thought maybe it was you she liked, but since she hasn't said anything, I figure it must be me. Why else would she be around?" Ron's expression was so earnest, so oblivious, that Harry had to work really hard not to groan aloud at his friend's foolishness.

"Ron, she's our _friend._ A girl doesn't have to be in love with a boy to want to hang out with him!" Harry wasn't even sure what else he could say about that, for it seemed so obvious to him. Ron was frowning.

"Well, that's not what Charlie always said," Ron asserted, "And I reckon that he knows a sight more about girls than you do!" His voice was firm, but Harry was still shaking his head.

It was still so strange to be looking down on Ron like this he thought, their heights had always been reversed. "Ron, don't you think if Hermione were in love with you, she'd have said something by now?" He tried to be reasonable about it, but Ron was being completely unreasonable.

"C'mon Harry, don't be thick!" Harry rolled his eyes. "Why else would she hang around us? At first I thought it was you, but now I'm sure it's not you. She didn't seem jealous at all when you were making eyes at Cho Chang last year." Ron was so far gone in his explanation that he missed Harry's sudden blush. "Besides, girl's are shy about that stuff sometimes." Ron's voice had suddenly become rather worldly, and Harry stifled a snigger.

"Ron, either way Hermione would want you to be happy." Harry tried another tact. Perhaps he couldn't convince Ron of Hermione's platonic feelings, but he could convince him to take advantage of a girl who certainly did seem to like him. "I think you should give it a try with Lavender. If you like her, go for it. Don't worry about Hermione." Harry hesitated, and glanced around. He really didn't want Hermione to hear this next part, "I'll tell you what. If it looks like Hermione is getting upset, I'll talk to her."

Ron let out a relieved breath and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "That's all I wanted mate! I'm glad you're behind me on this one. I'm going to and find Lavender now." Harry watched as Ron retreated down the stairwell, humming happily to himself. He shook his head. He had no idea how Ron had got it into his head that Hermione liked him.

Not that there was anything wrong with his friend, but Harry was certain that Ron was nowhere near Hermione's type. Crisis momentarily averted, Harry returned to the common room.

* * *

As he clambered through the portrait hole, he heard a familiar voice call his name.

"Hiya Harry!" It was Neville. Harry smiled at the other boy. It was hard not to like Neville. His fellow Gryffindor was so kind and gentle, Harry had used to wonder why he had ended up in Gryffindor at all. Neville's inner courage and strength had been revealed his very first year though, when Neville had stood up to Harry and his friends when they had been sneaking out of the tower again. Though Neville hadn't known what was going on, he had still made a stand against three more powerful students. Well, Harry thought ruefully, maybe only two.

Even so, Harry had a deep respect and liking for Neville. "Is there something you needed Neville?" Harry asked, "I'm free if you need help with something." If it was potions though, Harry doubted he could be much help.

Neville was smiling at him eagerly, and Harry couldn't help smiling back. "Actually Harry, I wanted to ask you something." Suddenly Neville seemed shy and unsure of himself. Harry frowned. What was he going to ask?

"Of course," Harry said slowly, "You can ask me anything you want." Neville glanced around the room nervously, but they were alone. The other Gryffindors hadn't as yet made their way back to the Tower.

The other boy took a breath. "Harry, do you think Ginny'd go to the ball with me if I asked her?" His voice was shaky, and his eyes were on the ground, but Harry could hear the earnestness in his voice.

Harry stared at Neville blankly. "Erm…ball?" What on earth was Neville talking about?

At Harry's confusion, Neville immediately looked up. "Oh, I forgot you wouldn't know. My Gran knows a lot about the Triwizard Tournament, and told me in a letter that there would be a formal ball for all of the students. She expects me to escort a girl and…well. Harry I'm hopeless with girls!" Neville's voice ended in a pitiful wail that had Harry stepping forward with a wince, making shooshing motions.

"Calm down Neville! We'll figure it out. A ball, eh? I wonder when the teachers were going to tell us about that." Harry tilted his head, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone, "I guess that's why we were supposed to bring dress robes…" He paused, thinking. "Neville, do you actually want to take Ginny?"

Neville nodded frantically. "I've liked her since she came last year. She's so pretty, and funny. She's also really strong. I've heard the teachers talking about her…" Neville swallowed nervously. "But I don't think she'd go with me. Can you help me Harry?"

Harry took in a breath and surveyed his friend. Harry wasn't an expert on Ginny even though, according to her brother Ron, Ginny had been in love with him since forever. He did have an idea of what might attract her attention though. "Neville, I'm going to help you. Let me think on it. I'll come find you when I have a plan. Don't stress yourself out though—it's not even October yet." Neville nodded in agreement, practically rocking on the balls of his feet in his excitement.

"Thank you Harry! I really owe you one." Harry shook his head, and just headed for the stairs up to their room. A ball. His thoughts immediately strayed to Fleur. Harry was sure she was a perfect dancer…he could almost imagine her in a flawless dress with her beautiful, silvery hair and blue eyes.

Harry sighed, pushing the door open. It would be a perfect opportunity to get to know Fleur better, he thought, to go with her to the ball. Harry wanted to know her. The Bond between them was growing, he knew. He could almost feel something inside of himself—a link he didn't know how to reach the end of.

When Harry stepped around the end of Ron's bed to his own, he was startled to find Hedwig sitting on his pillow.

"Hey girl! How did you get in?" Harry glanced at the window and was surprised to find it open. "Hmm. I thought I'd closed that." Realization poured over Harry all at once, and he raced over to Hedwig, roughly pulling the note from her leg and causing her to squawk in indignation.

"Sorry girl, I have to read this! It's from her, I know it is!" His heart pounding in his chest, Harry tore into Fleur's letter and read eagerly:

_Dear Harry,_

_I will admit that I am shocked anyone would be so bold as to do what you say your friend's mother has done. I wonder if she realizes the damage this has caused, for both of us. You didn't say in your letter, Harry, but I am sure that you have had struggles at school similar to my own thanks to this news article._

_You say that you have aged. I will speak to my father about that—I have never known the Bond to manifest itself like that, but I have also never known anyone in our particular situation. It could be as you say, that the Bond was making up for the difference in our ages. In which case, I am sorry Harry. You said you don't mind, but I'm still sorry that this has happened to you._

_The Triwizard Tournament is very dangerous, but I don't have a choice about entering. My headmistress is using me to lever attention and support from my father and certain…circumstances prevent me from admitting to him that I would rather not enter this competition. The only thing that makes the prospect of competing in this…Tournament…is the thought that you will be there._

_Nothing exciting has happened to me as a result of the Bond, at least not that I've noticed. I do feel something, though. Like a part of me is stretched very far away, and I'm trying to pull it back. I wonder if you feel that too? A hollowness that was once full…_

_Take care of yourself Harry. I will see you in a couple of months._

_Fleur_

Harry gazed at her elegant script, reading her words over and over. _The only thing that makes the prospect of competing…is the thought that you will be there…_ Harry felt warm inside, truly happy for the first time since he had gotten Fleur's last letter. He read over her words yet again, lingering over the feeling she described. "Yes…" Harry mused aloud. That was definitely one way to consider the link he felt.

Harry carefully, regretfully folded her letter back up and slipped it into his trunk next to the last. He glanced at his tired owl ruefully. She wouldn't be up for another flight for a few days. He dug out some owl nuts for her and handed them to her as a peace offering. "Sorry Hedwig," he apologized again. "I got a little crazy there." She nipped his finger affectionately and accepted the nuts before flying out the window.

Harry watched her fly away, and wondered what Fleur would learn from her father.

* * *

Fleur sat impatiently in her father's office. It was a Saturday, so she didn't have any classes, but Fleur had been waiting for an hour now to speak to her father. She wondered what could possibly be going on that would keep him away like this.

She leaned back in her chair across from his desk, trying to relax. Her blue eyes slid closed as she began to count her breaths—a technique her mother had taught her to use when she was feeling frustrated. As her emotions slowly came back under her control, Fleur admitted to herself that she was really upset because she hadn't heard from Harry in several days—not since she had sent her response back to him with the snowy owl. Perhaps her message had been too forward, or maybe it hadn't reached him at all. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she considered the possibilities.

Or maybe he just didn't care to respond.

Fleur swallowed painfully. "This is so stupid." She muttered to herself half-heartedly. And yet, she couldn't help but be extremely disappointed by the possibility that Harry just didn't care that much about their correspondence. Or, by extension, her. It was his right not to care, she reminded herself. She shouldn't waste her time worrying about him either, no matter the Bond that was slowly developing between them. Fleur could feel whatever it was strengthening every day. She could not feel Harry himself, but she knew they were connected.

The door behind her suddenly banged open, and Fleur jumped at the sudden interruption of her thoughts. She turned in her chair and saw her father backing into his office with a rather large box in his arms. She frowned. Was the box…growling? Evidently it was heavy, for she could hear the Minister grunting with effort as he moved to the other side of the room. Fleur got up hesitantly.

"Can I…?" But her father just waved her off and managed to set the box down on his own by the window. As soon as he stepped away from it, the growling ceased. He smiled wearily at Fleur and slumped into the chair behind his desk.

"Hello my dear. Sorry for the wait, had a little trouble in our Muggle Artifacts office. Apparently, some joker thinks it's funny to send the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office a biting teapot. Poor chap lost a finger before we could get it off him!" Fleur gasped at this revelation, but her father was laughing. _Laughing._ "Best fun I've had all year!" Seeing the expression on his daughter's face, he quickly sobered. "Not to worry, Maurice will be okay. They can do anything at St. Mungo's these days. I just loathe the man so…" Remembering that Fleur had actually come to see him about something, he trailed off and sat up a bit straighter.

"Nevermind about that. What was it you needed?" Jefferoi Delacour was nothing if not an attentive father, and he knew something must be really troubling his daughter if she would come to seek him out at the Ministry. Fleur really abhorred politics.

Fleur took a breath, readying herself. She would have preferred to speak to her mother about this particular matter, but she was still sickly and Fleur did not want to trouble her if she could avoid it.

"Papa, I have come to ask you some questions about the Bond I now share with Harry Potter." She risked a glance at her father, and saw the skin around his eyes tighten faintly.

Jefferoi chose his words carefully, recognizing this as a sensitive subject…for both of them. The formal tone Fleur was taking with him was a clue as well. "Fleur, I will answer what I can. I am not Veela, however, and can only tell you what I know of my own experience with your mother. Ask away." He didn't want her to think that he was an authority on the subject, but he would certainly try to help.

This wasn't exactly the response Fleur was expecting, but she nodded. She just hoped her father had a little insight that he could share.

"Harry has grown, Papa." She decided she'd just come right out with it. Jefferoi blinked, and raised his eyebrows. Fleur fought a faint blush. "I mean, he and I have been exchanging letters…" Her father's eyebrows climbed higher and Fleur couldn't help blushing furiously. "Papa! I'm trying to be serious. He told me that he grew overnight. He is taller…he is not in the body of a 14-year-old boy anymore." Fleur paused, glancing at her father, before resuming. "I didn't know what to tell him, because I have never heard of that happening." Fleur hoped her father would catch that she didn't know anything beyond that.

Jefferoi didn't become Minister for nothing. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Well, this does sound in keeping with the Bond's tradition of equalizing partners…" Fleur leaned forward, "However." She frowned. Jefferoi looked up and met his daughter's eyes seriously. "There has never, that I can recall, been a bondmate as young as Harry Potter. Age is not usually an issue." He fell silent, and Fleur waited anxiously. All of this she had assumed for herself. She needed to know what else to expect.

"There has also," her father suddenly continued, "never been a bondmate quite like Harry Potter, also known as the Boy-Who-Lived. It is generally assumed that he is very powerful, or has the potential to become powerful." Jefferoi looked up at Fleur. "I would warn Harry to be careful of his spellwork for a while. He has grown physically. I would not be surprised if he now has the spell capacity of a 17-year-old as well. With his own increased power, his spells may well be exponentially more powerful." Jefferoi got up from behind his desk and walked around until he was sitting next to Fleur. "Remember also Fleur, that what happens to one of you, happens to both of you."

Fleur frowned, unsure exactly what he meant. She knew to tell Harry that his spells would probably seem supercharged for a while. Did that mean that her own spell power may be affected? As if reading her thoughts, her father continued, "Be careful for a time when doing spells of your own. I don't know exactly what the effect will be on you, but the Bond usually tries to make partners as equal as possible. If Harry is more powerful, it could be that you are as well." Jefferoi leaned back, finished.

Fleur was quiet for a moment, and then "Thank you Papa. You have given me some answers. I have to go and tell Harry now." Jefferoi nodded and watched as Fleur got up to leave. His voice stopped her.

"Fleur, be careful. The Bond is different in every couple. Be very attentive to it." Fleur nodded in understanding, and slipped out of his office. Jefferoi stared at his desk absently long after Fleur had gone, remembering his own start with the Bond. The sudden rattle of the biting teapot snapped him out of it—he was Minister. There was work to be done.

* * *

**Greye's Notes:** Okay my wonderful followers and reviewers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know, it was a lot of information, but I hope there was some fun in there too. Girl troubles all around! Now, some of you asked if I could put up an expected publish date for my chapters. My life's a bit hectic at the moment, but I feel confident in saying that I will be able to post a new chapter every week to two weeks. I know that's a potentially long time, but it often takes me a long time to write these. I hope that you will stick with me and enjoy the reading!

Some people also seemed concerned that Hermione is actually in love with Ron right now. Perhaps I can now put your minds at ease—Hermione will not at this point be in love with Ron. It may happen later, but certainly not right now. This is just Ron being…well, Ron.


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